


How Far They'll Go

by inkedinserendipity



Series: Voyagers of the Stars [1]
Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, family is fickle: you don't know quite what you have until it's gone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinserendipity/pseuds/inkedinserendipity
Summary: The Chief of Motunui has been struck down. Her demigod seeks answers on the island of Te Fiti. There, he is faced with a question: for Moana, for the mortal who has made herself a home in his heart, how far will he go?





	1. Chapter 1

“Heads up!” Maui hoots, his hawk’s call ringing with glee. 

It’s instinct alone, honed from years fighting side-by-side with this shellbrained demigod, that saves Moana from a sea urchin to the face. She whirls toward the sound of Maui’s voice, oar clenched in white-knuckled fists, and whacks blindly. A dull _thunk_ reverberates up through her arms as she makes solid contact, sending the tiny nuisance flying through the air. Maui chuffs at her and flicks another her way. 

“I’m gonna need a couple seconds more warning!” she hollers back, frantic energy shifting her voice several octaves higher than usual. 

“I’m sure you had it well _in hand_ ,” Maui jokes. She can almost _hear_ him wink, even despite the adrenaline-soaked heartbeat thrumming in her ears. 

Swallowing exasperation, Moana turns back to the crowd of tiny menaces surging their way from atop crisp seacaps, settling her oar more firmly in her palms. A couple exchange glances, then throw themselves toward her. Moana flicks the flat of her oar toward the mass, grinning as they topple into each other. 

They crumble the way mist disperses from a waterfall, fanning out in a viciously pleasing pattern. Behind her, a cackle of victory means Maui’s got another couple grabbed by the spines and is in the process of drop-winging them further out over the sea. Moana definitely envies her stupid demigod and his stupid inhuman dexterity - these sea urchins have been blessed with the astoundingly irritating ability to shoot their spikes through the air. 

One, with particularly good aim, lodges several of its pointy spines in her ankle. Moana wastes no time dropping into a spinning crouch in retaliation and sending it and its fellows _clack-clack_ ing over the side of the boat. “Sure are a lot of these,” she mutters under her breath, narrowing her eyes at them. After she and Maui had burnt - er, removed - their little nest on the island of Tumu (per its Chief’s request), the urchins had decided that it was Moana’s boat they wanted to colonize next. All those little urchins and an eel, actually. She can faintly see a sinuous tail glinting underneath the mob. At least it’s not equipped with flying poisonous scales or something. 

Maui’s piercing call sounds once more. His vicious joy is infectious as he whizzes around their craft, snapping at the urchins who draw too close to Moana. As Moana shouts a war cry, donning a fearsome warrior face of her own, she is briefly gratified to see several turn tail and dive back into the frothing waters. Heh, cowards. She charges toward the side of the boat, whacking across the surface of her precious ocean, sending them skidding. Sure, the skin of her face is already red and raw from a couple spines too well-aimed for her oar to deflect, but she hides it with practiced ease. 

A brief grunt from a throat several times the length of her craft pulls her out of her reverie as she aims and whacks without end. It’s all the warning Moana gets before a huge wave of water nearly capsizes her craft. 

With a strangled yell of frustration, Moana instinctively scrambles backward to latch onto the mast. She swings herself from the sturdy wood as she would a branch, taking advantage of her temporary ninety-degree shift as the boat rears upward. Her momentum propels her high into the air. The whole prow tips toward the sky, heaving the urchins past Moana’s face as they whizz out toward the sea. 

As the boat settles back on the ocean, Moana hits the top of her arc, then lands firmly on the other end. Over her head, a whole string of urchins vault through the air, squealing indignantly. The dismissed urchins trail a shower of poorly-aimed spikes in their wake. Moana flicks her oar to deflect them with practiced ease. She resists the urge to wave them goodbye and good riddance.

Whenever Maui gets bored of being a hawk, his default seafaring attack tactic is _giant whale_. It’s a useful trick when there’s someone on their boat they want off - that move had made its debut when her craft served as an unwilling host to a particularly irate Chief Laki - and Moana has to at least acknowledge it’s clever, flipping their boat like a pan to propel its contents skyward. Well, the contents that aren’t already in the sky, catapulting themselves off the mast. 

Moana’s gonna mess that move up one day and crack her head or something. Eh. Hasn’t happened yet.

For a moment, both Moana and Maui stop to catch their breath. Their deck is mostly cleared of urchins, but it’s stuffed with poorly-aimed spines, and they’re unwilling to step too far onto the deck for fear of landing spikes in their soles. 

As if on cue, a wave speeds from the ocean, dislodging the thicket of prickers those pesky urchins had lodged in their deck. Moana leaps lightly over it, mistimes it slightly because her leg is going to sleep, and lands back in a receding pool of water. She chuckles tiredly as faint squeaks of frustration accompany the stragglers from the soundly defeated nest as they swirl toward the horizon. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Moana catches a flash of feather receding to skin, then feels the accompanying jolt of two huge feet landing solidly on the deck. A glance upward shows her that, true to form, Maui has decided to sun himself on the deck. 

Moana leans back against the mast and begins to prise the stingers out of her feet. They’re nothing too severe, she doesn’t think, flexing her feet and wincing as she runs her fingers over her ankles. Just painful. And annoying. She pats her cheek briefly, and hisses as she yanks one out of the skinIt’s tinged with green. Ew.

At that, Maui finally decides it’s worth the effort to crack open his eyes and glance toward her. Then he startles. “Wait,” he says, pulling himself to half-sitting position. “Are those _spikes?_ ” 

Moana stifles a rueful laugh. Because really, truly, Maui is a fearsome warrior - there is no one she would rather have by her side on the field of battle. After nearly a decade of adventuring together, the emblem of Motunui cresting their sail as they explore the high seas, their companionship both in battle and out is ascending to the subject of legend. 

But sometimes, he’s hilariously oblivious. “No,” she deadpans, then winces involuntarily as she yanks a particularly deep one out of her ankle. 

“Moana -”

She halfheartedly throws a pricker at him, and he bats it away easily. “I’m fine, Maui.” 

He considers her for a moment, then shrugs his huge shoulders. “Long as you don’t become a stinger yourself, Curly. Can’t have you getting too much more irritating than you already are.” 

Both Mini-Moana and her larger incarnation roll their eyes at Maui in eerie unison. At first, it was kinda weird to realize that this small version of herself was incarnate and could actually communicate, albeit nonverbally. But now, it’s nothing more than mundane. And very useful for winning arguments. Strange what becomes normal when your best friend is a demigod. 

Maui pouts. Actual, full-on demigod pouting, complete with a stuck-out lip and everything. Moana ignores him quite pointedly and tilts her head backward, stifling a huge yawn. Suddenly, she’s exhausted. And her head hurts. Absently, she itches at her ankle, glancing down to see if seaweed’s twined around it, but there’s nothing there. Huh. 

The mast creaks as Maui shifts his weight against it. “You look tired, Curly.”

“That’s something we mortals get. Sleepy. Comes with age.” She rolls her head to grin tiredly at him. “It’s a deadly affliction.”

“Don’t.”

His voice is sharp, and Moana winces. “Sorry.” Maui hates when she brings up her mortality. Honestly, Moana doesn’t quite understand it - it’s not like she’s the first mortal he’s met. He knew her ancestors, from Fa’atonuga the Ruthless to Nofo the Reserved. He’d never mentioned _them_ dying. 

“Anyway,” she continues, changing the subject with all the subtlety of an oar to the gut, “I gotta get more people in on helping me around Motunui.” 

Maui scoffs, untensing against the mast now that the pressing matter of mortality has been dropped. “Uh-huh. Who would want to be _Chief?_ ” 

“It’s not a one-woman job! Some Chiefs have had Advisors. Y’know, the people that sit next to them and tell them when they’re being stupid.” 

“That’s Arihi.”

Moana flaps a hand to dismiss the notion. “Kinda. She’s more a keep-track-of-details sort rather than a tell-me-when-I’m-being-dumb sort. Not for lack of trying! But she’s a bit lacking when it comes to, uh, reassurances. Plus, she’s got her hands full training La’ei.” 

“Hey, no badmouthing La’ei. She’s wonderful.” 

“Yeah, because she coos at all your stories. And how could I forget? Whenever you drop from the skies,” she shakes her head impishly, holding her arms out wide - well, as wide as they can go with her shoulder sore - “she comes running, hollering ‘Tell me a story, Uncle Maui! Uncle Maui!’ Oh man, you squeal like a teenager every time.” 

Maui valiantly pretends his face isn’t turning red, like he’d spent too long out in the sun. “Yeah, yeah, well. It’s nice to get some validation from children every once in a while,” he sniffs. “Adults are so finicky.” 

Moana snorts ruefully at that. Though she’s well an adult herself, she can’t help but agree. Some of her favorite parts of being Chief involve the young ones on Motunui - teaching the children their stories, their dances, their songs. 

Now that the hive of those beelike urchins is gone, the surface of the ocean is placid. In the distance, the waves roll up against the island of Tumu, sliding gently over the white shores. From here, Moana can see the faint roll of smoke that suggests the forge of Tumu is going, even this early in the morning. 

“Set sail?” she suggests wearily. 

“You’re the Chief here, O Expert Wayfinder. More than capable of setting your own sails.”

“Yeah, and I just scrubbed the deck.”

“That was the ocean, Fishfeet.” 

“Same thing. Now get.” 

He scowls at her for a couple of moments, just for good measure. Moana plasters her best cheeky grin on her face, and when Maui rolls his eyes she knows she’s won. 

Maui hefts himself to his feet, yanking on the halyard. Their little boat swivels to the right dramatically, causing the world around Moana to lurch disconcertingly. She shuts her eyes against the sudden appearance of the sun as it abruptly bathes everything to the right of the emblazoned sail with brilliant light. 

Next stop, windward side of Tumu. Moana suppresses a groan. She’s gotta let Fuefue know they’ve cleared her island of those bee-urchins before they return to the comfort of Motunui. And... well, close though she is to Chief Fuefue, she’s doesn’t really want to be playing diplomat right now. Mostly, she wants to sleep. But duty calls, as it does so often - though right now, it feels more like duty’s hollering over the painful pounding in her head - so Moana closes her eyes and leans against the mast and yells at Maui to set sails for Tumu’s port. 

She tries to, anyway. It’s a no go. Her throat is too dry. Idly, Moana wonders if she swallowed seawater or something during their fight, because her voice sticks in her throat like she’d coated it with sand. Disgusting. As the boat lurches again, her stomach goes with it, and chewing out Maui for terrible sailing is almost adequate motivation to stand up. Almost. 

Her eyes drop closed in a blink, and wow, she doesn’t want to open them again. Maui probably knows where to go, he won’t mind if she takes a nap, right? She won’t be asleep for more than twenty minutes, tops. And it’s so comfortable, with the light off the sea warming her skin, the lulling rhythm of the waves rocking her to sleep....

No. Wayfinders never sleep, so neither will she. Though she’s not navigating, she is the Chief of Motunui, and she will sleep when her work is done. 

From a long way away, Moana can hear Maui’s voice. But it’s distant and muffled, so he’s probably atop the mast again. She didn’t hear him climb, though, which is weird - his feet are huge, and she should’ve felt him pounding on up the wood. Eh, he probably turned bird to get up. Briefly, Moana debates just trying to yell for him to change course again, going so far as to tip her head backward, before deciding it’s a lost cause. 

Dehydration tugs at her throat, and with a self-pitying groan - one that she never gives in the company of anyone except Sina, Tui, Arihi, and the trickster demigod causing her precious boat to sway precariously on a _perfectly calm surf_ \- she hefts herself to her feet toward their little storage compartment. Her hands rummage around to find their water sacks, and she drinks greedily. 

Somehow, her throat gets drier. She frowns unsteadily at the sack in her hands, fingers uncomfortably numb against the dried material, and squints into the mouth-opening. She closes the wrong eye and spends several seconds puzzling over why she’s staring at the deck instead of the water inside. 

No, that’s definitely water sloshing around in there. Maybe it’s seawater or something, she thinks, and holds it up to her ear to see if it sounds any different. 

Then she jumps when something touches her shoulder. 

She looks up, and realizes with a jolt that the world is spinning. Moana blinks a couple of times, trying to get the mast to stop vibrating painfully, before focusing on Maui.

Confused, Moana turns a slow gaze toward the mast and finds that no, Maui’s not up there, doing handstands on its shaved top. He actually is right in front of her, she just hadn’t seen him come down. Huh. 

His lips are moving, she realizes abruptly. She can’t hear anything, though. Like someone had taken all the air out of their boat and drained it dry. Her entire head feels like it’s full of sea urchins performing a _haka_. She opens her mouth to ask him to set course for Tumu, but the movement makes the uncomfortable tingling on her tongue spread up to her mouth, climbing up her back like malicious ivy. 

Maui lays his hand on her shoulder. She tries to follow the movement, but it jolts through her body and her entire vision blots abruptly with black, dragging Moana to sleep. 

 

Maui should’ve realized something was wrong when a third pun fails to grab Moana’s attention. He’s just finished knotting the halyard in place, glancing up at the sun to ensure their little boat is speeding along toward Tumu’s port, when he cracks another excellent joke that fails to garner any attention. 

Moana doesn’t respond. Figuring she’s just licking her wounds, Maui tromps on over toward the bind to make sure none of those nasty urchins got their quills through the tough rope. 

Everything looks, heh, shipshape. The tight-stretched ropes look decently unblemished and unfrayed. He sets about plucking miscellaneous darts out of the wood of the deck that the ocean’s sweeping wave had missed, devoutly grateful his hawk-dexterity and shark-skin prevented him from having one of those embedded in his legs. 

Thankfully there aren’t too many left. Much as he and the ocean bump heads every once in a while - well, as much as body of water can have a head - it did a fair job careening the nasty little prickers overboard. 

He tosses his handful to the waves with a look of distaste. Chief Fuefue should be plenty happy to know that her island is free of those scoundrels. Good riddance. 

Brushing his hands against his chest, he turns to find Moana lurching unsteadily toward the trapdoor that holds their supplies. “Hey,” he calls after her, brows knitting as he takes in her uneven gait. “You sure you should be walkin’, Curly? Doesn’t look like those stingers’ve healed just yet.” 

She doesn’t appear to hear him. In fact, she doesn’t react to him at all, just holds their water-skin to her ear. 

Maui blinks at her. On his shoulder, Mini-Maui leaps upward, then reaches down to heave Mini-Moana off her canoe to join him. “Hey,” Maui tries again, crouching next to her. He’s not a subtle guy, big-chested and even bigger-footed, but the thumps of his feet against the deck don’t get a reaction from her at all. “Moana?” he asks, brushing a hand against her shoulder. 

Her eyes, unfocused and vacant, flicker toward him. They focus on him, very briefly, before rolling back into her head.

Ice devours the pit of his stomach. He catches her just before the back of her head hits the deck. The water skin plummets, spilling water overboard. For a brief moment, the ocean recedes, trying to keep the freshwater pure and untainted, before giving up the battle. 

“Moana?” Maui half-yelps, pressing a gentle thumb to her eyelid and pulling it upward. No good - she’s well and truly unconscious. “Moana, wake up,” Maui tries again, shaking her shoulders vigorously. But she stays limp in his hands. 

She’s probably just napping. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. She had looked pretty tired, leaning against the mast. 

And he’d believe it, too, if his mind hadn’t picked that moment to send a memory leaping his way. At the time, he’d discarded it as a trick of the light among all those glinting quills, but... come to think of it, there was an eel in those urchin-infested waters. 

Eels can’t survive in the climate of Tumu. 

With a horrible suspicion niggling at the back of his mind, Maui sets Moana gently on the deck and cradles her head in his arms. Around the small puncture wound gracing her cheek, the skin is turning an unhealthy shade of green before his eyes. 

Poison.

His gaze flickers toward the horizon, toward Motunui, hands clenching subconsciously around Moana’s hair. Sea urchins aren’t poisonous. Unless this breed grew unchecked on Tumu, became something different during his thousand-year hiatus, there’s no way for the poison in Moana to be theirs. And the eel that swam with them - it is too cool for moray eels, this far north of Motunui. It couldn’t be here, yet Maui had the vision of a hawk as he flew, and he was not mistaken. 

Maui’s heart drops as a second realization hits him, and dread spikes in his throat. If the eel was not a normal eel, then...

Inadvertently, his gaze drops downward. Down, down past the sea, through the waves toward the bottom of the ocean, through the rock, past even Lalotai, down toward....

_No._ He won’t even think it. Moana will be fine. He’ll bring her to Motunui, and her people will know what to do. Surely they have some sort of cure for ciguatera poisoning.

He can’t afford to spend time worrying. Maui whips a rope from the small compartment. Once he’s secured Moana’s wrist to the mast - the shortest route from Tumu to Motunui passes near Lalotai, and frankly, Maui wouldn’t put it past one of those infernal creatures to take a chance trying to capsize them - and arranged her as comfortably as he can manage, he sets sail for Motunui. 

The wind and the sea respond easily to his command. Beneath his feet, the ocean pauses to burble concern, glancing over the deck toward Moana, before grabbing the end of their craft and shoving. 

Maui sets his jaw grimly. With the sail against one palm and their oar in the other, he crouches low against the deck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note before the second chapter: no, this is not a follow-up to _Pantheon_. At this point, Maui is a demigod and Moana is quite mortal (unfortunately for both of them). 
> 
> That said, these stories happen at about the same time, just different timestreams - this, too, is about ten years post-movie. Thanks for reading!

Though it was less than three hours ago that Maui had stumbled to Motunui, calling for Arihi, for Tui and Sina in the same breath, it seems as though someone has shouted from the top of the Chief’s Peak: the Chief of Motunui, Voyager of the Seas and Name-giver of Islands, is ill. 

Without fail, when he visits Motunui, the children of the island are eager for stories. They crowd and pester him until he procures some tale, words glinting like gold in their awed eyes. Their fascination is almost palpable, the way their mouths hang open as he speaks, how their gazes follow his every movement. For hours he would regale them with exaggerated tales. Then, as the sky dims and the stars shine brightly once more, their parents come to corral their youngsters off to sleep. Then, Maui sets his wings for the thermals rising off Motunui; or, during the cooler evenings, to nap in Moana’s _fale_. 

But now, the village behind him is quiet. All around the island, like water dousing dozens of hissing fires, anxious families set their young ones to sleep - reassuring them _yes, our beloved Chief will live, do not fear. She would want you to sleep soundly. Rest now, young one, and when you wake all will be well._

Maui has no _fale_ of his own, but it’s not that he has no place to stay. There are at least a dozen families who would welcome him into their homes. In fact, those three hours ago, Sina had even suggested that he find respite instead of passing the night flying, had settled a consoling hand on his shoulder as Arihi had carried her sister bodily into their medical _fale_. 

Maui had shrugged her off with a bit more force than necessary. 

He’d hated, then, how understanding she looked. Like she knew what he was thinking. Like she could see through his facade as easily as Moana could. 

Shaking off the uncanny feeling, Maui had asked to accompany Moana. But however he demanded, eyes flicking toward Moana limp in her sister’s arms, Sina had held firm. Gentle, but firm. Even Maui’s warrior face, a scowl so ugly as to frighten wild beasts, did nothing to shake her. 

Now, there is no one with Maui but the stars and the sky and the waves. His body betrays his exhaustion as he rests in the shade of a coconut grove. He can’t sleep, not quite - but he isn’t awake either. Instead, he stares out at the ocean, watching as its waves lap higher and higher in a futile attempt to reach its favored Voyager. 

For what seems like hours, Maui half-dozes. Then, when the smell of dusk and starlight pervades the air, the Chief’s sister stands over him. 

Maui jolts upright at her presence, moving to stand. “Arihi -”

“Stay seated,” she commands, voice no-nonsense, ringed heavily with exhaustion. With slow, labored movements, she kneels on the ground opposite him. 

Maui watches her apprehensively. “How is she?” 

For a brief moment, Arihi’s hands fidget with the hem of her skirt, before she stills them forcibly. He stares. 

Arihi never fidgets. 

“I am glad you left my sister to us when you did.” There’s a foul-smelling rag wrapped around Arihi’s fingers. At his plummeting stare, Arihi folds it neatly, settling it into a pocket enveloped in the folds of her skirt. “Her condition has worsened steadily since your arrival.” 

“How much longer until she wakes?” he asks, unable to tear his eyes from hers.

She hesitates for a fraction of a second, then sighs, rubbing at her prematurely wrinkled forehead with the back of her hand. “She will not.” 

“What... what do you mean, she won’t?”

Her hands clench into fists in her skirt, pain flashing across her face. “The sleep into which my sister has fallen cannot be lifted through any medicine we have on this island.” 

“What - wait, on this island. What about the others?” he asks quickly, leaning toward her. “She’s - we were just at Tumu, they owe us for getting rid of those stupid sea creatures, do they have something...?”

“No. There are no mortal means through which my sister can be saved.”

“It’s just poison, Arihi, you’ve treated poison hundreds - thousands of times before! There has to be _something_ you can do!”

“Maui, please understand. There is nothing left to...” her voice cracks, just for a moment, before her back straightens even further. It looks painful. “This poison is of a strength not its own. I would almost conjecture... but I cannot fathom....”

“It’s of the gods,” he finishes for her, feeling hollowed out. He rummages around for a solution. He knows there isn’t one because he _knows_ what poison flows through Moana, killing her, eating her from the inside out, but he _refuses_ because Moana is _not dying._

Nothing comes. No spark of brilliance, no ideas, nothing. Arihi’s gaze drops from his own.

Past her, the ocean subsides against the bulwark of the shore, its rhythm dimming. It seems as though even the stars themselves glimmer more faintly, their lights more subdued, as they shine over the once-vibrant island of Motunui. 

“Is she dead already?”

A part of Maui is appalled at how strong his voice is. Before him, Arihi’s trembling spikes, and her whole face twitches with the effort of regaining her composure. But uncharacteristically, this doesn’t bother Maui at all.

Right now nothing really bothers Maui at all. 

“Not yet,” she replies, fists clenching at her side as she stands. Her nails, looking rusty even in the dim night of evening, leave small bleeding marks on her palms. “She has, at most, two weeks.”

He nods. It’s all he can do. 

“My father and I will create lodgings for you in Moana’s _fale_ while she... as she rests.” 

“Thank you,” he says blandly, because it’s what Moana would’ve wanted him to say. 

Arihi looks at him searchingly, and folds her hands behind her back, hiding them from sight. Maui looks away. “If you would like to see her now, Maui, you may follow me.” 

Maui says nothing. Does not move to rise. 

Thankfully, Arihi doesn’t squeeze his shoulder, or anything that Moana might have done in her place. Instead, she nods once. Then, she leaves the grove in silence, chin raising as she steps closer to the village, putting up a strong front for her sister’s people. 

Maui doesn’t see her go. He sees remarkably little, actually. Kind of like a hush has descended over the entirety of the island, like the strange silence that he noticed earlier has finally rattled through him as well. 

Suddenly, his feet spring beneath him without so much as asking him for consent. He finds himself walking, mind whirling, away from the coconuts and the lights of Motunui and the mortal, painfully mortal Moana. 

It’s impossible. This whole - this whole disaster, it’s _impossible_. It’s not happening. They were just some stupid _sea urchins_. Not even four moonfalls ago found Moana dancing to the rhythm of the waves, laughing with him, regaling him with stories about the island of Tumu and their Chief who has grown to be Moana’s dear friend. Moana is always vibrant and _alive_ , beaming with joy. Whenever sailing, Moana bursts at the seams with curiosity and exuberance and it tears at Maui’s heart in more ways than one to recall her, hardly breathing and lifeless, stretched limply along the floor of their craft as the poison sucked her life from her piece by piece, tearing the color from her face and the breath from her weakened lungs, leaving her drained and motionless and _mortal_ -

“Te Fiti!” he shouts before he really comprehends what he’s doing. The toughened soles of his feet have found the spiralling younger sister of the Chief’s Peak. From this high up, a leap toward the ground would allow him a solid minute to turn hawk before hitting the ground. Numb, his brain processes the idea and dismisses it with equal apathy.

Maui just cares about being angry. 

“You made her mortal! She was your favorite and you would -” he runs out of words to describe anything, to describe all of it, and lets out a strangled yell of anger and fear and helplessness and the grief he wants so desperately to believe he doesn’t feel. 

Blessings that he is so far from Motunui. The wind reacts quickly to his grief, howling in a counterpoint to the maelstrom churning through his stomach, as though his ( _immortal, immortal_ ) organs are one with the waves themselves, cleaved through by the bow of a boat headed by the mortal who has made her home in his heart. 

The wind whips his hair into a frenzy, and he’s sure he looks quite deranged, but he ignores that errant thought. “The ocean chose her for more than this! She _saved_ you, would you abandon her so easily? Come down here and _face me!_ ” he bellows. 

Maui doesn’t expect a response, not really. Te Fiti’s island is leagues from Motunui, and even if Te Fiti herself could hear him, she always preferred Moana, kind clever Moana, over the raving demigod who spoke too much and listened too little. 

But a voice sounds behind him, composed despite the tumult wreaking havoc on the peak towering above their heads and tearing through the tops of the trees below. “Half-god Maui,” it asks coolly, “why do you grieve?” 

Until his dying days, Maui will deny the startled yelp that escaped his lips. Only as he breathes in does he realize that he’s gasping for air, and that the rain on his face is not all freshwater. He dashes at his cheeks with the back of one doused forearm and turns toward the unexpected voice. 

Whatever he was about to say - he hadn’t quite formulated words yet - dies instantly in his throat. 

Maui has never met Tilafaiga before. As child, he heard her name in muted whispers - the worrying of his caretakers as they spoke about her wrath, her ruthlessness. It was not right, he would hear them repeat her scorn, that this _mortal_ would be granted the opportunity of immortality without proving himself. Though he has met the rest of the immortal pantheon, save of course Tagaloa and Saveasi’uleo, Tilafaiga remained always a mystery to him. Even Taema, her twin, had introduced herself to the youngling demigod; but Tilafaiga, he has never before seen.

There is no mistaking her now. Tilafaiga’s skin is dark, like the polished bark of a coconut tree. All along her body hum tattoos of many shapes and sizes, glimmering with an unknowable sheen. They are as black as shadow, as dark as the lightless pits of the ocean, twisting around her body until he cannot tell where her brown skin ends and the tattoos on her body begin. Embedded in her face shine two white pinpricks of eyes that watch him carefully, assessing, with a cool and rational intelligence that sets his skin shivering. 

But most jarring are the strange markings that glide slowly past her face. In two lines they slip around her skull, undulating like a ripple in a placid pond, expanding and contracting like the rhythm of a breathing thing. They wind smoothly, undeterred by the rain, forming a great X that crosses over her ears. One ring brushes against the top of her head as the other ducks toward the base of her neck, before both swoop upward to meet at her temples. Though he cannot understand what they say, they whisper in a strange language, a subtle and unsettling hissing always in the peripheries of his mind. 

Tilafaiga. She who holds their stories. In those winding halos, Maui can feel the story of everyone who has come before him - Moana’s ancestors, her people, even his own family. In her hands Tilafaiga holds every word they have spoken, every tattoo they have received, every song they sing, every name that rolls off the lips of the young students of Motunui, their ancestors and guardians, recited to the driving rhythm of the waves on the shore - Tilafaiga commands them all. And even from several feet away, even through the haze of desperate rage that clouds him, he can hear his own story. It calls to him, in a language he does not understand. And when he stops, listens closely, he can hear Moana’s name - it is tangled, inextricable, bound with his own. Even in legend, they cannot be separated. 

_They cannot be separated._ Maui determinedly shakes off the uncanny fear that her presence incites.

“I need to talk to Te Fiti,” he growls, because he really, really does. Never before has he opposed the life-goddess, for fear of her destroying his hook or worse, but for this, he is unafraid. 

“For what reason?” 

“Her champion is dying.”

Tilafaiga cocks her head at him, the movement far removed from anything that Maui would dare to term human, more akin to the body of a raven than that of a human. Her sharpened forehead does little to detract from this fleeting impression. “You grieve for the mortal Moana.” 

“I’m not _grieving_ ,” he growls, ire sparking at her apathetic tone. “Moana’s not dead, and she’s not going to die.”

“The mortal called Moana is indeed passing. There is little you or anyone else can do for her, half-god Maui.” 

Maui stares straight at her, straight into those eyes that care about nothing and no one. “Te Fiti can do something!” he shouts. “She’s the goddess of life. She has to help.” 

“There is nothing Te Fiti can do alone, demigod.” 

“If she brought life to humans, she can do it again.” Above their heads, impossibly, the storm intensifies. “And she will.” 

Tilafaiga says nothing. 

At his side, Maui’s hands ball into fists. He needs _answers_ , not this - not this muted, fruitless silence. “I need to talk to Te Fiti, Tilafaiga, _where is she.”_

“On her island.” 

He doesn’t have time to sail for Te Fiti. He has two weeks. Possibly less. “Bring her here,” he demands. 

“I cannot.” 

“Then let me speak to her.”

“I cannot,” Tilafaiga repeats tonelessly.

The hot, thick _umu_ -shaped stone boiling with his frustration coils out of his core and spills out of him in an aggrieved, furious howl. Lightning strikes, perfectly timed with his roar - and halfway below the mountain, the trunk of a tree shatters, splinters outward as the bolt smashes through its roots. 

“Was that cathartic?” Tilafaiga asks icily as the thunderclap fades from hearing, eyeing him with ill-concealed disdain. 

“Very much so,” he sneers. Maybe if he heads to Te Fiti and does the exact same thing, she’ll be more willing to help.

In instant response to that thought, his chest itches so hard it hurts. Maui balls his hands into fists and digs them into his eyebrows, trying to dispel the exhaustion-fuelled headache beating behind his eyeballs. He shuts his eyes and breathes.

Inch by inch, the fall of the rain lessens. He has to focus. This isn’t his forte, this isn’t what he’s good at, rummaging around for a solution with his mind. He’s good at - he’s good at hitting things, performing _hakas_ and flashing his hook. But this is not something he can fix with his fists and this is _not_ something that he can afford to fail.

Gods, this is not something he can fail.

The face of Moana, glowing with laughter, flashes before his mind’s eye. _Moana_. If Moana were here, she would know what to do. He just has to channel Moana. It should be easy, right? They’ve known each other for an eternity by now. 

(If Moana were here, they would be laughing, sailing, flitting over the seas, finding new islands and lands and peoples and _more_ , just like she loved, and she would not be limp and lifeless in a _fale_ as the poison of - as poison leaches her life from her veins, she would be smiling and laughing and joking and the thought is so _painful_ , more painful even than the fire of anger that tears through his stomach with red-hot claws, fires hotter than even the fist of Te Ka -)

No. He shoves thoughts of Moana from his mind and focuses. 

This is Tilafaiga, goddess of legend, _tatau_ and justice. Like Arihi, she speaks only in truths; but it is the details that matter, when it comes to Tilafaiga. She does not lie. 

Mentally, Maui reviews their entire conversation. So he stands for several minutes, soaking in the incessant rain, before something strikes him, not unlike a clap of lightning. 

“Wait,” he blurts, eyes narrowing. “Before. You said that there’s little I can do for Moana.”

The sneering disdain in Tilafaiga’s milky eyes, disguised as apathy, softens to a mere thin veneer of hatred. He should be honored, he thinks, that the legendarily emotionless Tilafaiga cracks her facade for him. Even if it is to hate. 

“Indeed.”

“But there is something,” Maui challenges, latching onto this ember of hope with the full force of a determined deity. “There is _something_ I could do.” 

“Perhaps. But to spare a life, even one of a mortal, is no inexpensive task.” 

“What can I do? How can I bring her back?” he asks immediately, subconsciously tightening his grip on his fishhook. An dual itch on his shoulder tells him that both of the Minis are wide-awake and listening. 

“I shall not say. My sole purpose is to record and remember, to maintain the balance, half-god,” Tilafaiga tells him, clasping her hands behind her back. “It is Te Fiti with whom you must deal in matters of life.” 

“What is Te Fiti going to want?” 

Far, far below his feet, the lights of Motunui dim, save one. Even from here, despite the rain whipping past his face, Maui knows where Moana lies. For a moment it tugs at him, begging him to run, to leave this desperate confrontation and stand with her, to stay by her side where he belongs. But he shoves the thought away. 

“The mortal Moana matters greatly to you, half-god,” she says, gesturing with a face once more devoid of emotion toward the smoldering, fallen tree behind them. “As such, to restore her, you will need to lose that which you value equal to her essence. Should your sacrifice be deemed worthy, half-god Maui, Te Fiti will bring her champion to life once more.”

Maui takes a deep breath, and blows it out. “A life for a life,” he thinks aloud. “I die, give my soul to Te Fiti, she brings Moana back.” He’s a demigod. In the eyes of the gods, his life weighs much more than hers. It’ll definitely work.

As he expected, Tilafaiga neither confirms nor denies the guess. Instead, she tilts her head to study him. It feels uncomfortably as though she’s looking straight into his soul. 

“I wonder how your story shall end, half-god,” Tilafaiga muses to herself. 

“I don’t,” he replies, some of his usual bluster creeping back into his tone. Now that he’s got a plan - go to Te Fiti, die - he feels much better. 

And hey, it’s not all bad. Not like he’d ever tell Moana this to her face because she’d kill him if she knew, but... being a demigod kinda loses its appeal when you’ve got someone to miss. When there’s someone you’ll love even after they’re gone. The thought of immortality is mostly terrible, he’d realized, when he realized he’d be immortal without Moana. 

If she dies now, he will never see her again. He’ll keep on existing until the end of time, always looking toward Tagaloa where her soul will rest. For years, for decades and centuries, he will keep his gaze fixed on the stars, aching for the constellations, for the legends he cannot touch. 

Tilafaiga does not reply to his comment, but then again, he didn’t really expect her to. Between one thudding heartbeat and the next, she is gone. 

Maui limps down the mountain to find a boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s this one part of _You’re Welcome_ in which Maui’s hair kinda waves in the breeze, even though he doesn’t have his hook. I kinda ran with that and, as he’s the Demigod of the Wind and Sea, and decided hey! He can probably make storms when he’s really upset. One, because it’s cool as heck, and two, he gets to shoot lightning. (Even though it’s more a manifestation-of-rage thing than a point-and-fire type thing.) 
> 
> Briefly, about the poison - there is a reason there is still some uncertainties about the eel. If you’re really curious, I would recommend digging a bit deeper into Samoan mythology, but if not, all will be revealed in due time. :) 
> 
> As always, if you want to chat, drop by at inkedinserendipity.tumblr.com!
> 
> Glossary:  
> Tilafaiga - twin sister to Taema in Samoan mythology. One of the two goddesses of tattoo, or _tatau_. She learned the art of _tatau_ from a deity called _Tui Fiti_ , who I personally headcanon as being Te Fiti. While returning from Tui Fiti, she was kidnapped by Saveasi’uleo. Saveasi’uleo and Tilafaiga later conceived Nafanua, the Samoan goddess of war. 
> 
> In the _Moana_ universe, I believe that Tilafaiga is the holder of history for the Samoan peoples. Because tattoos hold such cultural and personal significance, it makes sense to me that Tilafaiga would know much about the culture of each of the Polynesian peoples and their history. Also going off of this, with Tilafaiga as a sage of history and culture, I like the idea of Tilafaiga being a constellation typically used for navigation. Going along with the line from the Moana album’s outtake _More_ that goes “You know what lies ahead if you remember what’s behind you”, it’d be a neat link between Tilafaiga’s role in history and going forward, or voyaging. 
> 
> Tagaloa - the Samoan creator god, to which souls go upon death. His antithesis is Saveasi’uleo, who rules Pulotu, the underworld (analogous to Hades in Greek mythology). 
> 
> Arihi - Pacific Island name meaning noble. In this ‘verse, the younger sister of Moana, who helps Moana rule Motunui by taking care of the details that Moana is sometimes too hotheaded and determined to consider carefully before deciding. 
> 
> Tumu - in this ‘verse, the island ruled by Chief Fuefue. A close ally and trading partner to Motunui. 
> 
> _Fale_ \- word for a Samoan house or structure. 
> 
> _Umu_ \- otherwise known as an earth-oven. A collection of heated rocks used by the Samoan peoples to cook. 
> 
> _Tatau_ \- or “tattoo”. Typically holds great significance, both in a personal and cultural context.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little bit lighter before everything ramps up.

Mini-Moana hasn’t moved in three days. 

From the second his borrowed sail had touched the horizon, she’d just frozen right up. Granted, it's normal that she’s less animate than Mini-Maui, but even so she’s scarily still. Moving less, even, than the leaves of the coconut tree. At least those stir with the occasional wind. 

Which is regrettable, because the ride to Te Fiti? Shaping up to be pretty boring. 

Maui kinda expected that sailing to his death would be exhilarating. And sure, it was in the beginning, when he’d snatched the boat from Motunui’s stores and slipped into the water without anyone noticing. But adrenaline can only keep going for so long. Now, with the breeze in his sails and the eager current propelling him along, it’s mostly... dull. At this point, a storm would be nice. Heck, he’ll even take on one of those beasts of Lalotai, just for something to do. 

Sailing is not normally this monotonous. But then again, he doesn’t typically sail alone. There’ve been a couple of times Maui’s turned to his right to make a joke - “hey, I didn’t do it on _porpoise!_ ” when he leases the boom over the deck on the off chance it catches Moana off-guard (it almost never does) - only to realize it’s just him, the Minis, and the ocean. 

Well, him, the ocean, and one Mini. The other’s not on speaking terms with him at the moment. She was, unfortunately, very much awake enough and like her larger counterpart to be absolutely _incensed_ at Maui’s plan. 

Maui sighs. Now that the only entertainment for leagues and leagues is the vast, featureless expanse of the ocean and the sun beaming overhead, Maui finds himself in the unfortunate position of someone who has too much time to think and a pressing topic about which they do not want to think at all. 

Maui stops fiddling with the halyard and slumps to press his back against the mast. He can’t really put it off. He’s taken the first step on this crazy journey, but he doesn’t have to follow through. It’s not like he owes Moana some life debt - for every time she saved his life, he’s saved hers. That of her people, on top of it. He even got her ancestors started! The great Maui, Hero to All - he was the one who started their legends, their sailing, their culture, the fabric that binds them together! Where would Moana and her people be without the tides and the wind that fills the emblazoned sails of Motunui? Landlocked, that’s where. Suffering through painfully short days, still on their hands and knees, starving to death. 

And besides, Moana’s just a mortal. Maui always knew she was going to die at some point. Really, what’s the point of delaying that death for just another couple of decades? The heartbreak is going to come regardless. It’s only a matter of time. 

But if he does do this... if he does head to Te Fiti, sacrifice himself like some - like some sort of hero or something equally preposterous - he won’t be around to witness her death. 

That, he knows now, would _hurt_. Because Moana was so much more than just another mortal. She was the spark of a laugh at daybreak, the dances she’d teach the village children along the water, the wry smiles at Maui’s tall tales. The eager hand of support whenever he found another quest upon which to embark. The strong ear and mouth of advice when Maui found himself struggling, and at his most vulnerable - at the times where he feared he was nothing more than his accomplishments again, that his deeds were all he would ever be - she was the soft touch of an embrace, the indescribable warmth of a _hongi_ , unflagging and never judging. 

Sure, his accomplishments were something she respected, but that was never _him_. He was _Maui_ , and yeah, that meant he was a demigod with a magical fishhook and a sense of hairstyling that just wouldn’t quit. But to Moana, alone among her people, he was more than the beasts he’d slayed. More than the sun he slowed, the tides he commanded, the lands he pulled from pits of the sea. Moana alone understood him as no one else did. She was the first to ask, to understand, and to give and give even when he thought that for sure she’d run dry, to love and love until it seemed she’d burst from it. 

For thousands of years, Maui has lived. But if he has to continue eternally in a life, one without Moana, watching her descendants grow old and die until the end of time itself.... Well, he’s not ready to say goodbye.

Maui leans back against the mast, letting the sun wash across his face. That sort of clarity that comes from knowing you’ll die soon - it makes him pay a lot more attention to little things like sunshine. He studies the sky with a sense of warm nostalgia. 

“‘s been a long ride,” he says toward the sun in general, crossing his arms loosely behind his head. Now more than ever, he appreciates the scritch of the wood beneath him against his legs, the salt tickling his nose, the sound of the sail flapping, strong and steady, in the demigod-augmented breeze. “Guess this is payback for lassoing you all those years ago, huh? Well.” He chuckles. “Can’t really say I’m sorry for that.” 

His eyes slide closed. A sense of peace washes over him. He attributes it immediately to the fatally warm sunshine, lulling him to sleep. A blanket of light. 

Not too long now, before he reaches Te Fiti. But until then, he vows to himself, he’ll soak in every last breath. For Moana. 

Sixty years or so, he’ll give her. She’s strong and healthy, and stubborn enough to outlast the sea itself. And hey, odds are he’ll be able to watch her from above, make sure she doesn’t head toward Lalotai too many times once her hair streaks gray. Tagaloa’s gotta have a great vantage point, up there in the clouds. 

Moana will grow old in the arms of the village who loves her. She will lead with pride, caring and loving as wholeheartedly as she always does - for her family, for her people, and for the broken demigod she’d put back together. 

Then, when all is said and done, she will join him in the clouds. And up there, in that vast expanse of blue that ripples with clouds as a mirror to the waves below, they’ll sail forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
>  _Hongi_ \- a Maori greeting which consists of two people pressing their foreheads together. Can be used as a greeting or farewell. Symbolizes an exchange of the breath of life. Moana and Te Fiti shared one when Moana first restored Te Fiti. Upon participating in a _hongi_ , an outsider will be considered part of the tribe, and for the remainder of the visit will be expected to act as such. 
> 
> Tagaloa - the Samoan creator god, to which souls go upon death. His antithesis is Saveasi’uleo, who rules Pulotu, the underworld (analogous to Hades in Greek mythology). 
> 
> Lalotai - the realm of monsters as seen in the film.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is struck upon the grounds of Te Fiti.

The island of Te Fiti, when he first arrived that millennium-and-ten years ago, was lush. Everything about it shivered with life - the curve of the mountains, the crystalline shimmer of the water as it sprayed over Te Fiti’s soaring peaks, the perpetual bristle of life in the leaves of the trees that arched freely overhead; the comforting rhythm of the sea behind him, the mist of the waves against his back. Down to the smell of honey and lavender perpetual in the air, the essence of Te Fiti reinvigorated him. 

There are no mountains now. No fantastic creatures rustling through the tops of the trees. Instead, Te Fiti herself stands, a mere foot taller than Maui, in the center of a treeless clearing visible even from the sea. 

It’s not a surprise she’s waiting for him. Tilafaiga, along with Taema, were Te Fiti’s students once - from her, they learned the art of _tatau_. Makes sense Te Fiti would catch wind of Maui’s plan. 

Maui hefts a rope landward, looping it around a nearby rock. He’s just shrugged the last of the knot tight when it strikes him that he won’t exactly need the boat once he’s done here. Eh. He’s mostly done tying it down though, so with a shrug that is too jerky to be truly carefree, he finishes the knot with a small flourish. 

_Half-god Maui_ , Te Fiti acknowledges as he turns his back on the boat to face her. Beneath their feet, the grasses themselves hum a greeting, tickling the pads of his toes.

He’s really not in the mood. “Got it in one, that’s me!” he exclaims, winking hugely. It’s easy, at this point, to bury pain behind a mask of cheeriness. Especially without Moana. Without her, it’s like second nature again; simple and easy as breathing. “Well, I’m sure you already know why I’m here. So let’s get on with it, yeah? Wiggle your fingers and, well, smite me.” 

As a demigod, death was always something that seemed far away. Now, as he stands mere feet from the Goddess of Life, it’s staring him in the eyes. 

But Te Fiti does not, as he mockingly puts it, “wiggle her fingers” and smite him. Instead, she looks at him sadly. 

“What, do you want me to do something else?” Maui huffs, throwing his hands in the air. He thinks he’s entitled to one last temper tantrum. Moana would be disappointed, but she’s dead. “Sing a song, dance a jig?” 

For a long moment, Maui’s anger boils, hardening the knot of anxiety growing in his stomach. Then, Te Fiti turns partway to glance behind her - toward Tilafaiga. He blinks.

Tilafaiga’s gaze meets Te Fiti’s. Some strange communication passes between the two women, before Te Fiti turns back to Maui.

 _There has been a misunderstanding, demigod,_ the earth itself whispers regretfully, and Maui stills. 

His first reaction is to blurt _is Moana okay?_ followed quickly by _so I don’t have to die?_ then _you promised I could save her, Tilafaiga._

Except... no, Tilafaiga hadn't promised anything at all. Just that, to restore Moana’s life, he would need to strike a bargain with Te Fiti.

_You believe that the price for the life of Moana is your death?_

“Um. Yes?” Too questioning. It’s a statement. His life for Moana’s. He clears his throat. “Yes. That’s the bargain I’m making. My life - I’m a demigod, objectively my life is worth more than Moana’s -” _false, false, all false_ “- but I’m offering it up anyway.” 

Te Fiti’s face falls. _Demigod_ , she begins gently, moving as though to console. He steps back. _That will not be enough._

“What do you mean, it won’t be enough? A life for a life - isn’t that how this thing goes?”

_Not quite._

He gets to live? 

He sailed all this way, and he gets to _live?_ He should be ecstatic about that, probably, but the relief flinging itself headily toward his skull is dampened by the illogical sensation of being cheated. What do they _want,_ then? 

Resisting the urge to throw his hands in the air again, Maui poses that question to himself. Maybe his hook. They think that’s more important to him than his life, right? That was just about all he’d lived for, back on that island. The prospect of getting his hook back, of being Maui again. Yeah, that’s what Maui’s all about. His hook, swinging it around and looking fancy, shapeshifting and all the bells and whistles that make Maui _Maui._

Sure, it’s not as important to him as his own life. Not any more, at least. But maybe they don’t know that. He had admittedly gone through pretty extreme lengths to get it back, dropping into Lalotai basically defenseless to fight off a sparkling crab about fifty times his size. 

It’s kinda funny though, because this deal would be trivial. Even two months after he’d first met Moana, after she sailed fearlessly to Te Fiti - even then, he’d known which was more important. Ten years later? He hardly has to spare a thought. 

“Okay, I offer my hook,” he states, and proffers it to Te Fiti preemptively, almost eager. Hey, it may not be a life of grandeur from here on out, but it’s better than nothing at all. 

She does not take it. _Nor is your hook an acceptable bargain, Maui,_ she frowns, and he kinda wishes she’d go back to calling him demigod. Feels less like he’s being betrayed by an old friend. _Your sacrifice will not be weighed on an objective scale._

“As I said, half-god,” Tilafaiga speaks for the first time, tone cool, “to restore Moana, you will need to sacrifice that which you hold in equal regard to her life.” 

“What, my hook, my _life_ \- those aren’t enough?” 

“For you, they are not.” 

What? What does she mean, _for him_ \- 

Oh. 

It’s about _him_. This is _his_ sacrifice to make. That’s what Tilafaiga said, wasn’t it - he’ll have to give up something that matters to him as much as Moana does. He has to give something he treasures, something he holds just as close to his heart, as he does Moana. And his fishhook? Not even close. 

He tries to speak, and realizes his throat has closed. There’s something he’s missing, something very, very important, and he doesn’t like it. The look on Te Fiti’s face, her drawn resignation, even the shape of his hook in his hands feels wrong; Tilafaiga, standing behind Te Fiti, watching him with an uncannily calculating expression, calm and composed, the stories of the gods and Moana and himself, the great Maui, held in her head and her hands...

A horrible suspicion begins to grow, niggling in the back of his mind.

Tilafaiga should not be here. Maui deals with Te Fiti and Te Fiti alone. It is Te Fiti that holds Moana’s life in her hands, why does Tilafaiga bear witness? There should be none here but the goddess of life....

Well. Or so he thought.

His fishhook drops to his side. He laughs, once, quietly. Almost without his accord, his eyelids slip shut. He was prepared to give up his hook, he was prepared to _die_ , but _this_....

Mini-Moana’s come to the same realization. He knows because she’s pounding her tiny fists against his chest. Mini-Maui’s probably got no idea what’s going on, so Maui lifts one finger and gently flicks her over toward his back. He is suddenly, devoutly grateful that she has no voice, because if she were to add her voice to the arguments dripping around his skull and muddying his thoughts he might just turn around and go back to his rock for the next five millennia until he can grow a heart as stone-cold as Tilafaiga’s. 

“Do I at least get to keep my hook afterward?” he asks Tilafaiga directly, raising his head. 

“I cannot say,” she replies coolly, not emoting in the slightest.

Once you’ve lived as long and seen as much as Tilafaiga has, Maui reckons, you’ve gotta develop a pretty calloused exterior. Now he can understand how Nafanua came from her womb, and just where she got her fighting spirit. He’d always assumed it was from her dad - you know, god of Pulotu and all. Turns out he was wrong, though. Her ruthless side, her unflinching apathy, that all came directly from her mother. 

“And I’m guessing my tattoos are out as well,” he laughs hollowly. Because really, isn’t that just perfect. 

Because his sacrifice comes from her. Though Te Fiti holds Moana’s life in her hands, that which Maui values most belongs to Tilafaiga and Tilafaiga alone. Tilafaiga, goddess of culture and memory, holds his story. 

To restore Moana, Voyager of the Seas, Chief of Motunui and Name-giver of Islands, Maui’s story will be lost. 

Tilafaiga could wipe him from the memory of humanity, to eradicate him from their culture. To reduce him, his feats and his deeds, to little more than inexplicable phenomena. She could erase him from history, from their stories and their songs, leaving him once more tiny and insignificant - no, unknown - for the rest of time. His name will be lost, all that he has done that he has accomplished, his deeds and his feats, all consigned to oblivion. 

A thousand times, a _thousand times_ he would snap his own hook, would face Te Ka defenseless, before giving up his legacy. 

He’s peripherally aware that his fists are shaking, balled at his sides, shoulders hunched over the necklace of shark-teeth around his shoulders. _Shark teeth_. How many monsters had he fought for them? How many times had he leapt willingly into the face of danger, just to hear them call his name once more? It was _everything_ to him. For years that was his goal, that was who he _was_ , the demigod dedicated utterly to humanity. To helping them, to soaking in their praise, to hearing their voices rise in triumphant songs of his victories. He is a legend, a household name, a story and a guardian for all; from the young child holding on to the whispered words of their mother to the most venerated elder, asking the gods for the strength to lead their people with grace -

He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to be erased, he has a choice - his boat is still on the island, he can hear it, the way the waves part around its hull before converging once more on the shore. Against his skin the sun still beats and he doesn’t want to be forgotten, the way he’d tugged it slower, the way he’d lifted the sky itself for humanity. Because that’s _him_ , that’s _Maui_ , everything he had done for humanity - 

No. 

But no. Moana had showed him differently. No longer is Maui just the things he had done, the beasts he had slayed. He is more, and he is loved. No longer does he need the adoration of humanity to be whole - legacy or no legacy, he is Maui. 

And Moana, who taught him this. Moana, the mortal who gave him a gift beyond anything the gods could grant. Moana, who gave him a home, a family, and love.

For Moana, he will give up everything. 

“My legacy,” he says quietly, and Te Fiti nods.

Maui is briefly gratified by the flitting surprise that flashes across Tilafaiga’s face. Maybe at one point, it would have been satisfying, to take even the all-knowing goddess of stories by surprise; but it has an awful sort of clarity, now. 

While Tilafaiga knows facts, histories, she knows little of love.

“Well,” he says to his fishhook, kneeling to lay it on the ground. Te Fiti watches him with pain written on her features, while her student follows his every move with impassive eyes. “It’s been a long ride,” he says after a little while, and that’s all he can say. He could say good-bye, he guesses, but... well, it’s not really the hook he’d be saying goodbye to, anyway. 

Then he squares his shoulders. The itching on his back gets harder and harder to ignore, but he can’t look back. He won’t. He will not be dissuaded. 

“How do I know you’re going to follow through?” he challenges Tilafaiga. 

“It is Te Fiti who holds her life.” Tilafaiga doesn’t shrug, but it’s a close-run thing. 

Maui turns to Te Fiti. Even Tilafaiga’s stony apathy is better than the sympathy clear on Te Fiti’s face. He doesn’t want it. He just wants this to be over with. “Well?”

_I will return her to life before you must go. You may see her, half-god Maui, one final time._

Moana’s gonna hate him for doing this. He almost protests against seeing her again - almost - because Moana is just going to try to dissuade him, and he doesn’t want their final meeting to be sad, not like that. Stupid, fishbrained mortal is just that selfless. She’ll probably never forgive him for going through with this deal. 

Wait. Unless...

“Will M -” his voice breaks, but he shakes his head. “Will Moana remember me, after this?” 

There is a long, unbearable pause. Then, “When you fade, she will forget you.”

Tilafaiga's words cut him like a blade. His breath leaves him in a _whoosh_ , and he nearly backs out. He nearly runs away.

But he’d run, once before. He’d run once before, and Moana had almost died. 

He will not run again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not his mortality after all! 
> 
> A little bit of detail about this chapter before we hit the glossary. During the final fight against Te Ka, you might remember Maui’s _haka_. He’s alone and defenseless, he sees Moana about to die, and his first instinct is to call Te Ka’s attention to him. So he does. He stands on that rock, alone amidst the crashing waves, and challenges Te Ka - says _smite me instead_. He will die for his actions, and he knows this, and he does it anyway.
> 
> Even during the movie, Maui had made the decision, for her life over his. It does not make sense that Maui holds his life equal to Moana’s, since we know that he does not. The only thing that he might, _might,_ believe to be more valuable than Moana is his legacy. So this is the choice he makes. 
> 
> I’m really excited to hear what you guys think about this chapter! I know a couple of you were convinced Te Fiti was going to take his immortality, so let me know. :) 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> Glossary:  
>  _Haka_ \- a Maori battle cry used to intimidate enemies. Can also be used during special occasions - to greet a guest, to mark a funeral, etc. In the movie, Maui performed a _haka_ at least twice: once when opening the entrance to Lalotai, and the second to save Moana from Te Ka after his hook broke. 
> 
> _Tatau_ \- or “tattoo”. Typically holds great significance, both in a personal and cultural context. 
> 
> Tilafaiga - twin sister to Taema in Samoan mythology. One of the two goddesses of tattoo, or tatau. She learned the art of _tatau_ from a deity called _Tui Fiti_ , who I personally headcanon as being Te Fiti. While returning from Tui Fiti, she was kidnapped by Saveasi’uleo. Saveasi’uleo and Tilafaiga later conceived Nafanua, the Samoan goddess of war. 
> 
> In the _Moana_ universe, I believe that Tilafaiga is the holder of history for the Samoan peoples. Because tattoos hold such cultural and personal significance, it makes sense to me that Tilafaiga would know much about the culture of each of the Polynesian peoples and their history. Also going off of this, with Tilafaiga as a sage of history and culture, I like the idea of Tilafaiga being a constellation typically used for navigation. Going along with the line from the Moana album’s outtake _More_ that goes “You know what lies ahead if you remember what’s behind you”, it’d be a neat link between Tilafaiga’s role in history and going forward, or voyaging. 
> 
> Nafanua - child of Tilafaiga and Saveasi’uleo. The Samoan War Princess.
> 
> Pulotu -Saveasi’uleo’s domain, or the underworld-equivalent in Samoan mythology.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Te Fiti fulfills her promise. Maui speaks with Moana one final time.

The first thing Moana hears is the sound of the sea. 

Unbidden, a small smile springs to her face, and she rolls over on the mat beneath her back to curl more snugly onto her side. For several minutes, she is content to sit and listen; the life of a Chief is busy, and it is so rare that she can steal time to just feel the ocean. For all that Moana lives atop the waves, skimming the surf and feeling the breeze in her hair, it is always with an objective - to voyage to new islands, to trade with Tumu, to teach La’ei, to slay another beast of Saveasi’uleo. But in these scarce, precious seconds, she has time to feel. 

Eventually, the call of her Chiefly duties become too large to ignore. Surely by this point, Tane has caused some other chaos in the village, or Fetuilelagi has provoked Kalepo into yet another fight; or perhaps the chickens have flocked to the highest point in the village and can’t be coaxed down, or any one of the other hundred small things that can, and will, go wrong on the daily. 

Stretching luxuriously, Moana sits up and opens her eyes. She blinks sleep out of them, scratches her leg a few times, and she pulls herself to her feet. It is only as she glances around that she realizes this isn’t her _fale_ \- it’s Motunui’s _fale tele_ , the large gathering house used to house stories and meetings and general chaos. Which wouldn’t be too disconcerting, except that she’s entirely alone. 

This space is never unoccupied. Even in the middle of the night, there are at least three or four children that can be collected by their parents the following morning, piled on top of one another ensconced in the shade of an _apu_ blanket. But as Moana pivots disbelievingly, taking in the serene ocean toward one end of the island and the forests carpeting the rest, there is not another soul in sight. 

“Hello?” she calls, more unnerved than truly afraid. After all, there are a plethora of reasons that her tribe could be, er, not around. Maybe, uh... maybe the fishermen are rotating the fishing grounds, and everyone else is off sailing. That’s not too rare anymore - her people are plenty competent enough now to voyage without their Chief holding their hand. Yeah. They’re probably out discovering some strange new island without her. 

It’s odd, though, that even the edges of the village, which sprawl away from the _fale tele_ , lack so much as a twitch or shimmer of life. There are no birds, no scurrying groundbound rodents, not even small bugs hiding in the blades of grass. It’s just... green. Full of trees and brimming with ripe fruits, all fresh and flawless, but utterly devoid of other life. 

So Moana thinks she’s rather justified for letting out a half-scream when a voice behind her says, “You’re looking pretty jumpy, Curly.” 

Moana’s heart misses a step, falling briefly out of rhythm with the waves. “Maui!” she screeches, stomping toward him. The grasses beneath her feet don’t so much as wilt under the force of her footsteps. “You scared me!”

Maui gives his fishhook a pleased spin, grinning at her dismay. “Not like it’s hard, Fishfeet,” he taunts glibly.

She blushes bright red at the nickname. “Hush,” she mutters. 

During one of their sailing voyages, oh, a couple of months after they’d hauled the first of their ancestors’ boats off the island, she’d tried to make shoes out of the vibrant, green-yellow scales of a _mahi mahi_. _Shiny_ was her only real motivation, much to Maui’s dismay - but with all the flimsiness of the fishskin, they hadn’t worked too well.

“Where are my people?”

“Taking a vacation. Y’know, from the stresses of being ruled by you.” He winks, prodding her in the stomach with the blunted edge of his hook. “Toward Tumu. Fuefue told ‘em her island’s spectacular around these months, so I think a bunch took off to verify her claims.” Around spins the fishhook yet again. “But anyway, Curly, I was thinking about takin’ a walk. Wanna come with?” 

Moana arches an eyebrow. “The day I can’t keep up with you is the day I retire from the sea entirely.” 

“That is to say, never.”

“I’m so glad we understand each other.” 

They pass hundreds of footsteps with idle banter. Motunui is the same, yet unnervingly different: the trees gleam with the same vigor, their fruits ripe and delicious, but there are no _lele alope_ to snatch the bananas from their stems, no birds to catch the clouds of bugs swarming the sweet nectar of Motunui’s bushes. 

It’s not until the ocean stretches all around them that Moana realizes he’s led her to the Chief’s Peak. “Odd choice of venue,” she comments idly.

“I had a question,” he grins, and though she hadn’t noticed before, there’s something off about him. Something tugging down the corners of his smile and graying his eyes. “I mean, you added a shell to all these rocks, right? What’re the next generations gonna do, add more shells? That’d just make a spiderweb of shells, Curly, and what happens when they all come toppling down, huh?” 

Maui’s leaning impertinently against the handiwork of _generations_ of Chiefs, and she wouldn’t put it past him to sit his behind right on top, like he owns the place. “Step away from the monument,” she commands, batting his elbow off the rocks. He debates doing _exactly_ what she fears, she can see the thought bubbling in his eyes, before he concedes with a laugh and a couple of steps away. 

Satisfied, Moana leans respectfully against the rocks, since her legs are oddly tired. Eyes outward, Moana gestures toward the sea. With a tinge of sweet nostalgia, she remembers herself, ten years younger, leaping down from the mountain to reunite with the waves. “The idea was to build outward. The next Chiefs - they’ll travel across the sea. While Motunui is home,” she shrugs, “the Chiefs after me will find newer, better places than I could imagine. There, they will leave their mark.” 

“Huh.” Maui rests his fishhook against the monument, smirking impertinently at Moana as he does so. She pointedly does not comment. “Until you run out of places to find, that is.” 

“Ah,” she chuckles, “but that’ll only happen if you stop pulling islands out of the sea. And we both know you’re not gonna stop doing that for a long time.” 

Her merriment falters as something haunted flashes through his eyes. There’s a long, uncomfortably stretching silence, and Moana stands up straight, using her elbows to push herself off the rock. “Maui?” 

But when he looks at her again, his radiant smile is back in place. “Of course, Curly. So long as I’ve got this hook, I’ll keep stringing you guys along,” he winks with an mocking half-bow, chuckling to himself. “It’s so funny to watch you guys scramble all over the ocean like headless chickens!”

She squints at him, then shakes her head. “Whatever you say.” 

A couple seconds trickle by. It’s always astonished Moana how, even so high up the mountain, the sounds of the ocean are clear and unfettered. Like the warm area rising from the grounds far below carries with it the sanctity of the sea. 

With a muttered “I won’t sit on it,” and a brief crossing of his fingers, Maui joins her leaning against the Chief’s Peak. Technically, none but the line of Chiefs themselves are supposed to ascend the mountain, but somehow, she thinks Maui’s an exception to this particular rule. 

“So what gave you the idea for the shell, anyway?” he asks.

“When we got back from Te Fiti.” She sweeps her hair out of her face, her grandmother’s necklace clinking against her collarbone. “The ocean parted one last time to let Te Fiti through, helped me get home, then went silent until we took to the seas once more. Of course, then it wouldn’t shut up at all,” she chortles to herself, gazing fondly at the broad expanse of azure glistening in front of her. “But when we got the first ship on the ocean, it showed me a shell.”

“That one.” 

Moana glances affectionately over her shoulder. “Yeah, that one. It...uh, I’d found it before, when I was really little. When the ocean first chose me. I mean, at first I thought it was just a dream - y’know, the ocean parting for you isn’t exactly normal - but turns out it wasn’t, the ocean really did choose me. Anyway, when we got back from Te Fiti, it showed me the same shell. So I took it, and put it on top of the rock.”

One bushy eyebrow arches disbelievingly at her. “Mhmm. And all that nonsense about expanding outward, did you think about that before sticking the shell on top of a bunch of rocks, or _after?_ ”

Moana can feel her face heating. “Uh... afterward, maybe? Actually, that was Arihi, who, uh, pointed out that we couldn’t just keep stacking shells like we could firewood.” 

“Psh. You’re lucky you’ve got someone like Arihi by your side.” 

Moana nods fervently. While Moana is admittedly impulsive and stubborn, her sister is cool-headed and detail-oriented. It is her sister that steers her back on the right path, sometimes with much haste, when a meeting between Chiefs is about to drop steeply south. Or the last time a sea-demon attacked the shores of Motunui and Moana had to fend it off armed with only her oar. 

“You know,” Maui starts, and his voice is almost soft. “I never really appreciated just how big the ocean is.” 

For once, Moana was not the one staring, reflecting, at the ocean. “Maui?”

He blinks, then looks at her. Then looks at the sea. Then looks at her again and grins. “Just talking to myself.”

There’s definitely something wrong. She can see it, right along his smile. It’s _right there_ where his eyes don’t crinkle like they should. After so long travelling the seas with him, she knows him like no one else does - and while these fine details would be invisible to anyone else, mortal or no, it’s clearer than the siltless waters trickling down from the peaks of Motunui that something is terribly off about Maui.

His grin. It’s fake. 

Finally, he notices her staring. Then, with a deep sigh, he hefts himself off the rocks. His smile slips off his face with alarming ease. His shoulders shrug almost to his ears as he reaches up and, with clumsy, wide-fingered movements, unclasps the necklace from around his neck. The teeth that adorn the fraying fibers are dulled and old from the constant beating of the ocean breeze; the tight ropes that bind the shark’s teeth to their fastenings is worn and thin, some holding on through stubbornness alone. 

It clinks quietly together as he holds it out. “For you, Moana.”

“What - Maui, I can’t accept this.” 

“What d’you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean - that’s your necklace. You love that thing. I’m not just gonna take it from you.”

“It’s a gift, Curly!”

“Yeah, but it’s not _mine_. I’m not taking it.” 

“Y’know, it’d be rude to reject a gift from a demigod.” 

Moana pauses, for a long moment speechless. Then, shaking her head, she rallies with an accusing, “Something’s wrong.”

“Huh?” 

She jabs a finger into his chest. “You’re acting weird. Why’re you... doing that?” 

“Doing what?”

“That!” she huffs in frustration. “Maui, I’ve known you for a decade, I _know_ when you’re not actually smiling. Why do you keep doing that - that fake smile thing? What’s wrong?” 

His entire facade crumbles for half-a-second, so fast that if her eyes weren’t trained on his face she would’ve missed it entirely. She wonders, briefly, how many times that happened while they were walking up the mountain. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says eventually.

It’s the quiet tremor in his voice that gives him dead away. Less noticeable even than a shadow of a hawk flitting past the stars at night, but Moana has grown accustomed to seeing these things. 

“You’re lying,” she says softly, and takes a step forward. “Maui, what is it?” 

She expects him to make something up. Pass it off with a joke, a jab at her fashion sense. Instead, he scrubs at his face tiredly. When he looks at her again, his expression is the most vulnerable, honest look she’s ever seen from him. 

The shark’s teeth clink together as he offers it to her again. “Please, Moana.” 

Her breath freezes in her throat. At least, she thinks, at least he’s not still smiling that terrible fake grin. He wasn’t - he wasn’t doing that back when she’d just woken up, was he? Right? 

She can’t remember. It’s a bit of a blur. Ever since she woke up, actually, everything’s been kinda blurry. Why, why is Motunui so lifeless and yet so, so green? What happened? 

What can't she remember?

Something tugs at the edge of her mind, jabbing into her thoughts and demanding to be paid attention to, but it’s more fickle than the slicked fibers of a coconut slipping through her grasp, like trying to right a drying _tanoa_ without her thumbs. Maui’s still holding out his necklace, watching her expectantly, and over the beating of her heart she reaches for it. Even if she’s not entirely what’s happening, even if she’s uncertain whether she’s dreaming or exactly what is happening, she trusts Maui. 

“Thank you,” she says, but Maui bypasses her outstretched hands. 

With a gentleness unexpected of fingers his size, he reaches over her head and clasps it around her hair, careful not to tug the strands. Then after a long, dwindling heartbeat, during which his hand rests gently on the back of her head, he tucks it against the nape of her neck. It settles with the necklace of her grandmother, the pendant snug between two of the shark’s teeth. As though the two circlets were made to fit together. 

When he steps back there’s a huge grin lighting his face again - _fake, terrible_ , she wants to rip it off his lips but he won’t stop _doing_ that, and something is wrong...there’s that memory niggling again at the corner of her mind, something important, something she’s missing, and her foot itches like seaweed wrapped around it but when she looks down nothing’s there - 

The sudden feeling of his arms around her shoulders jolts her from her reverie. “Maui, what are you doing?” she asks, staring confusedly at his chest.

“Shhh,” he shushes her, voice muffled in her hair, and that in itself isn’t new. Sometimes, when Maui’s stories get too over-the-top and she tries to get him to tone down the details a bit, the kids don’t need to know _exactly_ how many legs that monstrous octopus had, thanks, he’ll just wave away her protests. 

But this shushing is supposed to be soothing, and that alone makes her very, very alarmed. Though she doesn’t know _why_ , behind her eyes, the stinging of a hundred sea urchins begins to prick. 

Maui pulls back, just far enough to bow his head level with hers. Moana cannot deny him this. She lets her face fall forward, eyes closing as her forehead touches his. This is bad, this is _bad_ , and she doesn’t know why, she doesn’t know why this _hongi_ feels like a goodbye -

“Chief of Motunui,” he breathes, into the space between them, “Expert Wayfinder, Friend of the Ocean. Name-giver of Islands, Voyager of the Seas.” She feels rather than sees him smile, eyebrows upturned and eyes squeezed shut, against the crown of her forehead. Her stomach plummets and she moves to pull away in alarm because this is _wrong bad wrong farewell no_ \- 

“Thank you.”

Then, as though Motunui itself was waiting for him to finish, her world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hubris_ (n): hoping you can beat out a sentence of the gods by giving your best friend a necklace made of sharkteeth, c’mon Maui she’s not gonna remember you at all no matter how many little trinkets you give her
> 
> Some notes for clarification - this isn’t actually Motunui, it’s a dream-sequence type imagining that combines Te Fiti and Motunui. Somewhere Moana and Maui can meet one final time. Also, Moana, as she’s dead at the moment + being pulled back to life, doesn’t quite remember what happened, or why Maui looks so _sad_. 
> 
> The next chapter will be the climax of this fic. All I will say about its contents is that Moana hasn’t had her say in this whole business yet. 
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary:  
> Saveasi’uleo - Samoan god of the Underworld. 
> 
> _Fale_ \- word for a Samoan house or structure. 
> 
> _Fale tele_ \- the central building of a Samoan village, oftentimes used as a meeting place or one where storytellers (like Maui) would tell their stories. These buildings tended to be open-air, with no walls. Think the building at the beginning of _Moana_ , during Grandma Tala’s tale. 
> 
> _Hongi_ \- a Maori greeting which consists of two people pressing their foreheads together. Can be used as a greeting or farewell. Symbolizes an exchange of the breath of life. Moana and Te Fiti shared one when Moana first restored Te Fiti. Upon participating in a _hongi_ , an outsider will be considered part of the tribe, and for the remainder of the visit will be expected to act as such. 
> 
> _Apu_ \- Samoan word for “apple”. 
> 
> _Lele alope_ \- Samoan word for “flying fox”. 
> 
> _Mahi mahi_ \- a huge fish with bright green-yellow scales. 
> 
> _Tanoa_ \- the bowl in which the _‘ava_ drink is prepared during ceremonies. Pretty sizable, covered in a finished sheen that can make it hard to pick up. 
> 
> Arihi - Pacific Island name meaning noble. In this ‘verse, the younger sister of Moana, who helps Moana rule Motunui by taking care of the details that Moana is sometimes too hotheaded and determined to consider carefully before deciding. 
> 
> La’ei - a Samoan name meaning fashion, in a generic sense. In this ‘verse, the daughter of Arihi, who will rule Motunui after Moana passes. 
> 
> Tumu - in this ‘verse, the island ruled by Chief Fuefue. A close ally and trading partner to Motunui. 
> 
> Fetuilelagi - Pacific Island name meaning star. In this ‘verse, a very energetic preteen, who learns everything about sailing with enthusiasm. Sometimes too much enthusiasm. 
> 
> Tane - Pacific Island meaning man. In this ‘verse, one of the more empty-headed kids on Motunui.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is only one thing we say to Death: not today.

The first thing Moana hears is the sound of the sea. 

Unbidden, a small smile springs to her face, and she rolls over on the mat beneath her back to curl more snugly onto her side. For several minutes, she is content to sit and listen; the life of a Chief is busy, and it is so rare that she can steal time to just feel the ocean. For all that Moana lives atop the waves, skimming the surf and feeling the breeze in her hair, it is always with an objective - to voyage to new islands, to trade with Tumu, to teach La’ei, to slay another beast of Saveasi’uleo. But in these scarce, precious seconds, she has time to feel. 

Then she sits bolt upright, panic coursing through her veins. The mat beneath her back is no adornment of Motunui’s _fale tele_ , it is a thick knotted weave of vines gentle against her skin. All around her, the air smells of lavender and honey, of blooming and life, and Moana recognizes the scent almost instantly as that of Te Fiti. 

The soothing smell does nothing to calm her as she leaps to her feet, hands grasping for an oar that is nowhere near her. Moana’s not sure if that was a dream or _what_ , but she has to find Maui. 

Te Fiti in her humanoid form stands in front of Moana, her eyes unfathomably sad. Moana’s gaze stutters over her for a quick second, her and the weird dark shadow-thing behind her, until she spots a strange shadow on the ground. 

Moana looks up, and Maui is floating fifteen feet off the air, eyes closed and insensate. 

All thoughts of respect and deities fly entirely from Moana’s mind as she rushes forward. She calls Maui’s name into the open air, sprinting across the grasses that tickle against the pads of her feet. Against her chest prod a dozen sharkteeth, urging her faster. 

She is so busy looking toward Maui that she misses a glint in the grass, a glint on which she nearly breaks her foot. Moana winces, glances down, and comes face-to-face with a ring woven in with the grasses of Te Fiti’s island, a circle of indecipherable markings that gleam despite the sun not yet cresting the horizon. 

The same ring sparkles above Maui’s head. Together they create a faintly shimmering cylinder, hardly thick enough for him, that constrains him within its grasp. Even from so high up Moana can hear their whispers, a twisting, tearing cacophony that grits its way across her skull. As Moana watches, heart pounding in her chest like she’s run a kilometer across Motunui’s sandy beaches, she realizes he’s _changing:_ the ink of his tattoos, his feats, grow dimmer and dimmer, fading closer to the tone of his skin. His head lolls backward senselessly as he revolves slowly within the grasp of some godly curse. 

“What’s happening?” she demands, feeling her throat go dry. She whirls on Te Fiti, barely remembering to dip her head in respect. “What is this?” 

_The half-god Maui has bargained with Tilafaiga to restore your life, Moana._

“My - my _life?”_

For the span of a stuttering heartbeat, Moana recoils. Then the recollections return to her in a flash, the sea urchins and the fight and Maui a winged hawk kicking them toward her for her to smack out to sea, going to meet with Fuefue and drinking water and then... and then nothing. Nothing, until Maui and Motunui, but that recollection is hazy too - what was it? How did she get here? And more importantly _what is happening to Maui?_

Moana poses the question, but Te Fiti says nothing in return. Instead, she gestures toward her right, where the shadowy figure Moana had ignored stands, gaze focused on Maui. Moana’s questions still instantly. 

Tilafaiga is smaller than Te Fiti. Smaller even than Moana herself. Still, she exudes an aura of ice, the flowers curdling to ash at her feet, that leaves no doubt as to her identity. There is no other deity that could stand with a face so perfectly expressionless. 

However Moana tries, she can’t make out where Tilafaiga ends and the trees of Te Fiti behind her begin - her entire form is blurry and indistinct. Her eyes are sharp and glint like precious jewels, white and striking even against the light of the sun striking off the ocean behind her. Her face is angular, her forehead pointed and chin jagged, like the face of a cliff given breath. 

Tilafaiga, goddess of _tatau_ , upholder of legacy and justice. 

Shoving down panic and forcing her determination to the front, Moana nods a quick sign of gratitude to Te Fiti and stomps right up to Tilafaiga, feeling rather than seeing Te Fiti follow her. “What deal did Maui make?” Moana begins without preamble. She gets the feeling there should really be some sort of reverence in her tone, maybe some _thank you, great Tilafaiga, for giving my people the art of_ tatau, _for showing us the songs to sing to commemorate our elders,_ but right now the words don’t come, shoved aside and scattered like a maelstrom thundering through a tree of _niu_ splitting them and spilling their lifeblood on the cold unforgiving ground. 

Tilafaiga’s gaze drops abruptly to Moana, and Moana has to force her features into their warrior face to repress the chills that shudder through her spine. 

“His legacy for your life,” Tilafaiga explains, impassive gaze returning to Maui. “Upon the conclusion of this deal, the story of the demigod Maui will be lost to time. None will remember his name, nor his deeds.” 

Moana can’t breathe. Maui - Maui values his legacy more than anything. More than his fishhook, more than even his own life. When Moana first met him, that was his sole motivation for continuing - the hope, desperate though it may have been, that one day, he would reclaim his hook and the adoration upon which he had thrived for millennia. 

She just can’t comprehend it. It doesn’t work, the puzzle pieces don’t fit, why would he give that up? Maui’s always known she was going to die, she’s just a mortal and he’s a _demigod_ , he can live _forever -_

Moana yanks herself back to the present, forcing herself to keep her attention fixed on the goddess in front of her. Every instinct, every story of her grandmother’s, every song of Tilafaiga, every tattoo Moana has received itches and burns, trying to force Moana into a devout bow. But Moana stands tall, stands proud, and refuses. 

“How is that justice? Shouldn’t it be a life for a life?” Moana demands, shifting her body to plant herself more firmly between Tilafaiga and Maui. 

“For something of value to be gained, something of equal value must be lost. He values your life above even his own; therefore, such a trade was unacceptable.”

Anger, fresh like boiling lava, courses through Moana’s veins. How _dare_ he? How dare he come to Tilafaiga and ask to - to do something so inane, so stupid? If he survives this, she’s going to _kill him herself._

But she can’t focus on that right now. She has to come up with something. She has to save him. She has - she has no bargaining chips but she can think of something, she can and she will. 

She tears her gaze from Maui and the fishhook he left, lying limp and defeated, on the grass. She will not watch as his tattoos shimmer and fade. She will not see him inch higher and higher, closer toward that second ring that whispers the siren song of oblivion. 

But despite her best efforts, an errant thought distracts her. Tilafaiga said that he would not be remembered, does that mean that Moana herself -

No. _No._ That’s impossible. Her mind shies away from even the possibility as her hands grip at her skull, shoulders arched. She refuses to comb through her own memories of Maui. They are fine, they are intact, they are perfectly shaped, just as she created them and she cannot worry about that now or she will begin to doubt and doubt is the destroyer of ideas. 

She has faith. She must. She is the Chief of Motunui, the Voyager of the Seas, and she will not let her demigod die like this.

Inhaling deeply, shoving the dread and terror-covered fury to the screaming recesses of her mind, Moana plows through her grandmother’s stories. _Twos._ Tilafaiga, a twin, the sacred goddess of duos - surely she will understand the ties that bind Moana and Maui, just as they tie Tilafaiga and Taema together.

The feeling of time trickling through her hands like sand through a wide-spread fishnet is stronger than ever, and she whirls on Tilafaiga. “What if this were Taema?” 

Tilafaiga does not so much as flinch, nor turn her head toward the mortal demanding her attention. Above their heads, Maui moves higher in the sky, his ascent inexorable as he drifts closer to his own oblivion. Far above her, Maui winces briefly, and Moana’s chest aches in response. “What if this were - what if this were Taema, sacrificing herself for you? Tilafaiga, you can’t do this.” 

“My sister would never sacrifice herself for me. The comparison is not valid.” 

“But what if she did? Imagine it, Tilafaiga, imagine - wouldn’t you do anything to save her? Your _sister_ , Tilafaiga, she who makes you whole!”

“Again, mortal Moana, this situation is irrelevant.” Tilafaiga still won’t look toward her, keeping her eyes locked firmly on the demigod she’s destroying. “As such would never arise, I have no need to consider it.”

Moana bites down the hysterical urge to throw her hands in the air. For the goddess of memories and history, Tilafaiga sure is bad at hypotheticals. 

Instead, she clasps her hands firmly together, willing them to stop shaking. Seeing that emotion won’t sway the goddess of justice, Moana turns instead toward Te Fiti. “Please,” Moana pleads, “please, Te Fiti, you have to do something. He doesn’t deserve this.”

_Perhaps he does not, young one. Yet this is what he chose._

“It’s not fair! This isn’t fair, he - the ocean chose him for more than this! He’s so _good_ to so many people, Te Fiti, I’m just a mortal, the comparison isn’t even close! No one deserves to be wiped from history forever. He’s done so much for us. Please, Te Fiti,” Moana begs, imploring her to understand. “There has to be _something_ I can do. Tell me. Tell me how I can help.”

Te Fiti eyes Moana curiously through the saddened crinkles of the wilting flowers that compose her eyes. Out of her peripheries Moana can see Maui rising, _still rising_ , Tilafaiga is still erasing him from everything from history from memory from her and Moana _cannot let her -_

_The demigod means so much to you?_

“Yes,” Moana replies immediately, not a drop of hesitation in her voice. “Yes, he does. Just - help me.” 

The island itself stirs with an unnatural breeze as Te Fiti draws in a tired breath. _There is little that I can do for him, Moana_ , she says regretfully. _Maui has created a contract with Tilafaiga, and so long as it holds as just, Tilafaiga will remain unswayed._

Moana latches onto the words _so long as it holds as just_ with a fire, dissecting and analyzing them, thoughts latching around its crevices like seaweed binding around an oar and yanking it toward the seafloor. 

Tilafaiga will not be swayed with emotion. Even if Moana could convey just how much Maui means _(the guardian of her tribe her shield-partner her confidant her friend and brother her family)_ it would do no good. Tilafaiga, justice and reason-driven Tilafaiga, would not know such compassion if it hovered twenty feet over her head. 

Moana’s entire body is shaking. Her head is spinning and she’s not sure if it’s from adrenaline or literally being raised from the dead - wow that is _not_ a thought she is comfortable thinking - but her focus is thin and sharp as the needles that sewed her clothes and she will not stop now. Almost too fast to process, Moana speeds through her hazy recollections of the attack. Something was unjust, she will come up with _something -_

And just like that, something strikes her. No - nips her in the ankle. 

There was an eel in those waters. It seemed nothing more than a glimmer over the sea, than a quicksilver reflection in the water. Initially she had disregarded it as an errant sunbeam glinting off the waves. However, thinking back, it was certainly there. 

But eels can’t survive in that part of the ocean.

And besides, Moana recalls her mother’s words, sea urchins _aren’t poisonous_. 

Then how did those particular spines become laced with a poison strong enough to kill her even though - even if the sea urchins had somehow adopted the venom of the eel, those small prickers would never be enough to inflict ciguatera poisoning (because it definitely was ciguatera, the poison of a moray eel, Moana has treated it enough times to know the symptoms herself) concentrated enough to actually kill - to actually cause death, which means that if it were the venom of an eel there was some outside intervention, something inhuman, something godly -

There is only one god who can _take the form of an eel_ and he hates Te Fiti with a burning passion, he whose magic was pushed back when Te Fiti was revived by _Moana_ , revived by Moana herself, who was struck down at the hands of an eel leading a host of urchins with _godly powers_ \- 

“Wait!” she blurts, whirling on her heel before she can so much as process that string of thoughts. “Tilafaiga, call this off, my death was unjust!” 

Tilafaiga turns slowly toward her. Above them, Maui grinds to a halt. He casts a small shadow on the ground, now, far above Moana’s head, and when she dares to look up his tattoos are almost entirely gone, hair nearly brushing against that deadly second ring, but she doesn’t dare rummage through the decade of precious memories she shares with him for fear that they are gone because _she will not lose them_ and this will work, this has to work, and Moana - Moana will accept nothing less.

One cool eyebrow arches over Tilafaiga’s unreadable gaze. “My death was unjust,” Moana repeats, heart pounding wildly in her chest, and she brushes her hair out of her face to fix Tilafaiga’s gaze with her own. “It was not an urchin that struck me down, nor a mortal enemy of any sort. It was Saveasi’uleo.” 

That - just when Moana believed that Tilafaiga was incapable of emoting, _that_ wrenches a reaction from Tilafaiga with all the force of a hammer blow, sending a frisson of surprise and anger through Tilafaiga’s normally impassive face.

“That is impossible.”

“No, it isn’t. In the waters - when we were fighting off those urchins, there was an eel. And -”

“A coincidence,” Tilafaiga snaps, terrifying anger tinging her voice.

“ _This was no coincidence_. Tilafaiga, Te Fiti, I was killed by poison, thrown into a coma from ciguatera poisoning so powerful that it literally killed me. We were attacked by sea urchins, but sea urchins don’t possess this venom! It comes only from a moray eel, and even then in small concentrations.”

Tilafaiga wants to say something, Moana can see the words coalescing on her tongue, but Moana just keeps talking. “Look,” she continues, forcing her voice down from its previous frenzied pitch. She must reason with Tilafaiga on the goddess’s own terms. “I am the mortal who restored Te Fiti. When I did so, the magic of Saveasi’uleo was lessened greatly, his grip on my island and hundreds like it reduced to ash. It makes sense that he would want to get revenge on me.” 

There is a long, considering pause. Again the stories of her grandmother pound against her, begging her to bow, but in response Moana straightens her back and returns Tilafaiga’s calculating gaze with a calmness she does not feel. 

_Moana speaks with reason_ , Te Fiti interjects thoughtfully. 

Relief floods through Moana. She should probably keep going, expand on the advantage she has with Te Fiti backing her up. But instead she allows Tilafaiga a moment to process. Were she debating with any other logic-driven deity she would continue, relentless, but Tilafaiga has lost so much to Saveasi’uleo, and to continue now would be cruel. However the goddess professes to have no emotions - well, Moana can see the disgust and fear lingering on her face. Just the slightest hint of it. But for Tilafaiga, that is enough. 

She should not look upward, but she can’t help herself. So she does, and instantly she wishes she had not. That’s her best friend up there, face scrunched up in pain and hanging in the air inanimate, lifeless.

“Nevertheless,” Tilafaiga begins, voice shockingly composed. “This does not mitigate the fact that you died; the demigod Maui negotiated to return your life.”

“Saveasi’uleo is the one that killed me,” Moana restates for emphasis. If she can prove that fact true.... “He meant to strike at Te Fiti through me. Do you accept this as fact?” 

A pause. Then, “I do.” 

“Then my death was unjust.” At the declaration, panic beats through her once more because she cannot afford to be wrong. Moana hides her shaking hands behind her back. Her heartbeat, roaring through her ears, times with the beating of the ocean against the shore, as though the sea itself joins as one with her cause. “There is no way I could defend myself against a god. Besides, Saveasi’uleo, it was Te Fiti he hated, and - sorry, Te Fiti - against Te Fiti that he should have struck! The action against which Maui was bargaining shouldn’t have happened, and the thing he tried to give up - he shouldn’t have to lose his legacy because the other end of the deal was not _right_ ,” she argues, trying to shuffle her thoughts neatly before she loses the attention of the goddess holding her best friend brother _family_ at knife’s point -

(Behind her the ocean pounds _try again, Moana keep fighting keep breathing keep exploring Moana dream tall Moana, there’s always more - you know what lies ahead if you remember what’s behind -_ )

Moana forces her crashing heartbeat to calm. She slows her words consciously. She takes a deep breath and says “Because that which he would have lost was unfairly taken, his punishment should be mitigated.” 

Tilafaiga says nothing. Te Fiti says nothing. Moana has nothing more to say. 

Around them, the ocean keeps railing furiously against the shore. 

Under the cover of silence, it strikes Moana that even if she _has_ forgotten some of their tales, forgotten Maui, she will not know. 

It takes her a couple of seconds to start her heart beating again, after that realization. Once more she has to force herself from scrambling through her recollections. There will be time for panic later - when she is done here, Moana can breathe. 

“Your argument merits consideration,” Tilafaiga concedes quietly, and relief careens through Moana so quickly that it leaves her light-headed. 

Steady, Moana. Inhale, exhale. Maui’s shadow brushes over her foot as the sun inches further above her head. 

“Then Maui must reevaluate the deal,” she presses mercilessly. 

“I agree.” Where earlier, Tilafaiga would not so much as meet her eyes, it feels now as though her scrutinizing gaze will never cease tearing straight through Moana’s core. “It remains true that for a life to be given, something of worth must be taken; but if you speak truly, mortal Moana, then the removal of your life was not done with justice.” 

_We also cannot ignore, I think, that Elo has decided to once more make himself known in the mortal realm,_ Te Fiti intervenes gracefully, strolling toward the duo as though she would walk along the beach at sunset. Her demeanor is so at odds with the aftereffects of adrenaline shooting through Moana’s body that she blinks at the jarring tone, aware abruptly that she’s panting for breath. _Should he strike again, we will need to stand against him - and however insufferable he may be, Tilafaiga, we cannot deny that the half-god Maui is nigh-unsurpassable in combat._

Tilafaiga’s inky fingers lace together, becoming more solid and corporeal as her hands reunite. “What do you propose, Te Fiti?” 

_Perhaps, given that the stolen life he fought to restore was taken without fairness, we should allow the half-god a choice. A...selection, of sorts, between two alternatives._

“What had you in mind?” 

_To be erased,_ Te Fiti proposes, nodding toward the cylinder of runes binding Maui in place, then shoots Moana a sly half-wink, _or to become mortal._

Tilafaiga starts. She stares at her mentor with icy eyes wide. “Do you believe he will see that as choice? Choose between a consignation to oblivion or... or an _eternal condemnation?”_

_Would both options uphold the balance, Tilafaiga?_

“Te Fiti, this is insanity. There are none of our kind who would willingly lose their greatest gift.”

 _Tilafaiga, the choice that we would present to him. Would these terms be acceptable?_ Te Fiti repeats smoothly.

Tilafaiga regards Te Fiti for several long seconds, for the first time speechless. Then, “Yes.” 

_Then, though this seems madness,_ Te Fiti concedes, gaze flicking briefly toward Moana, _we should permit the half-god to decide his own fate. It is right._

Once more, Tilafaiga is quiet as she ponders. Her shock recedes as the waves retreat from the shore toward the ocean, leaving behind a stony, featureless mask. Then she turns her eyes once more toward Moana. 

Moana’s throat runs dry. She swallows, hard, as the memories of her impertinent demands rush back to her, plunging raucously around her head like so many seafaring birds. Apologies spring to her lips for a sudden fear that Tilafaiga will smite her or worse. But Moana does not give them voice - apologies are worthless when there is no regret present. Moana would argue just as she has done a hundred times over for her demigod. 

Instead, she dips her head. “My thanks to you, Tilafaiga.”

Tilafaiga says nothing in return. Instead, after considering Moana for a long moment, she turns toward Maui. With slow, deliberate movements, Tilafaiga presses her thumbs lightly to her temples. 

Above Maui’s head, the halos shimmer and fade, the whispering runes disappearing then rematerializing around Tilafaiga’s head. The duo reunite, sweeping past her nose and ears and lending an eerie, incandescent sheen to her face, the horrible whispers of oblivion quieting with the reunion. 

The consequences of the disappearance of Tilafaiga’s rings hits Moana about two seconds before Maui plummets down from the sky. 

A cry of “ _Maui!_ ” tears from Moana’s lips. Instantly, she skids toward him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He’s heavy even _not_ as dead weight, and his legs are little more good than fronds of seaweed at the moment, but he’s _alive_. He’s alive and she knows who he is, and in that moment she is so relieved that her tears water the grounds of Te Fiti. 

As she settles him to the ground, she scans him quickly. His tattoos are _there_ , dark and black and wavering back to animation. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Mini-Maui stir. 

“Maui?” she asks shakily. 

Maui lets out a quiet, tired groan. Uncaring of the deities watching her, Moana clears the hair from his forehead. Then she tucks one hand under his head, helping him look upward. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” he slurs, eyes focusing hazily on her. She wants to laugh. Liar. 

Instead, she presses her forehead to his, squeezing her eyes shut as she buries her face in his own. She runs her fingers through his hair, revelling in that she can _feel_ him again, that he is here and solid and alive.

On the ground, he does the same, leaning into the _hongi_. Though his movements are slow and sluggish, he lifts his hands to wrap them around her shoulders and holds her. This, _this_ is not the panicked goodbye of earlier, this is warm and real and a greeting, and if she believes hard enough, a promise. 

She will not forget him. 

There are so many things she could say right now. This feels like the moment for some emotional declaration, and Moana hasn’t quite decided whether that declaration is going to be one of relief, love, or a death threat. But they are together again, they are one and comfortable, and she says nothing. Later, there will be time to talk - but for now, they are content to breathe life into each other once more. 

“What happened?” he asks raspily. 

Moana chuckles quietly against his forehead. “I, uh, am not actually entirely sure? I kinda woke up here and started yelling -”

Te Fiti clears her throat gently. It’s a clear signal to move, and with a jolt, Moana remembers that the danger isn’t over yet. Doesn’t feel like it, though. She’s unstoppable. 

With Maui at her side, she is unstoppable. 

Reluctantly, Maui pulls one hand away from her back and plants it against the ground, then slowly, painstakingly, hefts himself to his feet. Moana keeps her arm nestled beneath his, supporting him, just in case his knees decide to turn to jelly again. She can’t help the overjoyed turn of her lips any more than she can suppress the giddiness that bubbles in her chest, burbling with joy.

“Half-god Maui,” Tilafaiga says, turning to regard the two beings, mortal and immortal, standing in front of her. “Your judgment has been reconsidered. I present you now with a choice.” 

Maui glances at her, confusion clear in his eyes. Her throat is too tight to speak, so she gives him a thumbs-up with the hand not wrapped around his shoulderblades. 

“And that is...?”

“To lose your legacy, half-god, or become mortal.” 

Even though he’s exhausted, even though he’s leaning on her like he would keel over without support, Maui turns to her with a tired grin and asks “What did you do this time, Curly?” 

“Nothing much,” she replies cheekily, trying and failing to ignore the tears still rolling freely down her cheeks. “Negotiated with a couple gods.” 

His laugh, though weak, is warm and real. Moana takes the sound and nestles it in her chest, right around her heart, and pats it into its home, a place she had almost - _almost_ \- forgotten. 

“Catch me, okay, Moana?”

That wrests another laugh out of her lungs, tired and rasping but genuine. “Always.” 

For a brief moment, Maui tilts his head toward her, resting the side of his head against her own. Then he taps her arm with two fingers. She lets him go hesitantly, barring the urge to grab at him again as he staggers forward. Taking a deep breath, Maui plants himself on his own two feet, toes entrenched in the blooming flowers of Te Fiti’s island. 

Moana has counted her heartbeats on her fingers many times over before Maui looks up. There is exhaustion in his stance, even from the profile Moana can see of his face. His hair is askew, his shoulders slumped, the lines of his tattoos sagging. But his eyes are filled with fire. 

“I choose mortality.”

Tilafaiga gives her mentor a measured nod. Te Fiti flicks her wrist, and Maui crumples to the ground like a coconut severed from its vine. 

But that’s okay, because Moana catches him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, we’re on track for a happy ending!
> 
> It was really important to me that I nailed Moana’s characterization in this chapter. She took the facts, the same facts - actually less facts - than Maui had, then successfully negotiated with Tilafaiga. Her first approach was emotions (what if this were Taema, what would you do), realized pretty quickly that wasn’t gonna work, and switched to the language of her opponent - logic. I believe that this is part of what makes Moana a great Chief and leader: she can empathize with those who have problems and help them find solutions. 
> 
> A couple of additional notes about Tilafaiga. Most of the time, she really _is_ stoic. She holds all the stories, good and bad, of everyone in the world; she decided pretty rationally that if she decided to care about each and every one of them she was going to go insane. So she no longer does. There are only two things that can get an emotional reaction out of her, and those are Te Fiti, to whom she looks up as a mentor (which is part of why she hates Maui - he kinda stole Te Fiti’s heart and cursed her for a thousand years), and Saveasi’uleo, who captured her and dubiously consensually gave her Nafanua. That’s why Moana steps off a bit after she mentions Saveasi’uleo, because Moana knows the legend and pieces together pretty quick that Tilafaiga is gonna need a couple of seconds to process that yes, Saveasi’uleo is alive and kicking and probably out to kill Te Fiti. 
> 
> The dual-rings that Tilafaiga’s got going around her head allow her to “read” the stories of the people with whom she interacts. So if she needed to erase someone from history, for example, she could do so by destroying the tattoo/marking that held their story. Hence, also, why Maui’s tattoos began disappearing when Tilafaiga started wiping him from collective memory.
> 
> Interestingly, the legends of Tilafaiga and her twin Taema made things that came in twos holy in Samoan culture. One of the reasons I picked Tilafaiga in this story was to put emphasis on the power of two - Tilafaiga and Taema, Tilafaiga and Te Fiti, her dual rings. And, of course, our beloved Moana and Maui, who even in the face of death cannot be separated. 
> 
> Also, I really recommend the outtake _Unstoppable_ , the line “I am Moana, I am unstoppable”, for an entire mass of emotions about Moana that no one ever asked for _thanks Lin_
> 
> Okay, last but not least. The thought of Maui’s willingness to destroy his own legacy was a shameless completion of his character arc. Maui started off unwilling to risk his hook for Moana. By the end of the movie, he’s willing to lay down his life. By the end of this fic, he’s ready to give up his legacy, the thing we know he holds most dear in the world. Because some things are more important. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! There are two chapters left, a follow-up and an epilogue, and they should be out shortly. 
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary:  
> Tilafaiga - one of the two Samoan goddesses of tattoo, or _tatau_.
> 
> Taema - the second Samoan goddess of _tatau_. Twin sister to Tilafaiga. 
> 
> Saveasi’uleo - Samoan god of the Underworld. 
> 
> Nafanua - child of Tilafaiga and Saveasi’uleo. The Samoan War-Princess.
> 
>  _Hongi_ \- a Maori greeting which consists of two people pressing their foreheads together. Can be used as a greeting or farewell. Symbolizes an exchange of the breath of life. Moana and Te Fiti shared one when Moana first restored Te Fiti. Upon participating in a _hongi_ , an outsider will be considered part of the tribe, and for the remainder of the visit will be expected to act as such. 
> 
> _Fale tele_ \- the central building of a Samoan village, oftentimes used as a meeting place or one where storytellers (like Maui) would tell their stories. These buildings tended to be open-air, with no walls. Think the building at the beginning of _Moana_ , during Grandma Tala’s tale. 
> 
> Tumu - in this ‘verse, the island ruled by Chief Fuefue. A close ally and trading partner to Motunui. 
> 
> La’ei - a Samoan name meaning fashion, in a generic sense. In this ‘verse, the daughter of Arihi, Moana’s sister, who will rule Motunui after Moana passes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maui wakes up confused, disoriented, and at a place he never again thought he would go.

There is salt crusted around his nose. His entire face twitches against the revolting smell, trying to expel the unfortunate buildup. You’d think, after a thousand years on this stupid island, that he’d have found some way to keep unwelcome minerals out of his nose - but shoving rocks up his nostrils doesn’t work, and actually just makes his whole nose sorer. Sorer? Sore-ier? Itchier. It makes his nose itchier. 

Maui rubs a finger across his face, trying to rid himself of the feeling that he’s just woken from a dream. It was a really weird one, stranger even than that one he’d had about lassoing one of the beasties from Lalotai and sailing across the ocean on its pink, slimy back. Nah, this one was even odder. Something to do with old Glittershell, and the heart he stole ages ago. And a girl. She’d had something to do with the sea and an island, he thinks. Eh, whatever - thinking about it makes his head hurt, so he doesn’t. 

His head is pillowed against something surprisingly comfortable and leaf-like, he notices abruptly, and that’s almost curious enough to get him to open his eyes. But not quite. The leaves probably washed up from the ocean a little while ago or something, and past-him was intelligent enough to make a pillow out of them. Good going, past-him.

Eyes still closed, Maui flops onto the sand, ignoring the itch on his chest. Apparently there’s something really important happening, because his miniature self is having an absolute party on his chest. The last few times Mini-Maui freaked out like this, it was about - uh, that’s weird. He... can’t remember? 

Whatever. He’d pay attention, he really would. But the island is so warm, and Maui’s so comfortable, and he really just wants to go back to sleep. He’s already been here for a millennium, nothing’s gonna happen if he naps for another week or so. 

Then footsteps sound on the sand behind him. All thoughts of sleep are driven instantly from his mind. Maui’s eyes snap open and he pats at the ground blindly for his hook before he spots the hilt jutting out of the sand a couple feet in front of him. Adrenaline thrumming, he wraps his hand around the hilt and instantly starts to snore exaggeratedly. He flicks his eyes from the sand toward the sky, trying to glimpse whatever’s on his island. 

The thumpings pause a good distance away from him. There’s a shuffling, then a strange creaking that sounds like wood. Maui’s ears perk up, because if there’s _wood,_ he can make a boat and finally be off this cursed island. Once he gets rid of whatever else is here. Much as he hates this island, it’s his, and he’s going to defend it. 

With a fearsome roar, Maui catapults himself upright, brandishing his fishhook in the direction of -

_Moana?_

A half-remembered instinct, buried in that hazy recollection, stills his hands immediately. Maui freezes in midair, warrior’s-face sliding out of place as he stumbles awkwardly to the ground. 

All the memories, the recollections and thoughts and sensations, they all dump back in his mind at an alarming pace. He staggers physically backward under the weight of it, and the human - _Moana, Moana his Moana warm safe alive_ \- jolts forward, eyes wide and hands outstretched. As she reaches toward him, places a steadying hand on her shoulder, she drops the leaves she’d amassed under her arms; her lips are moving like she’s saying something, and he definitely thinks it’s urgent by the look on her face, but Maui can’t hear her - 

Moana. Tamatoa. Wayfinding. Te Ka. Leaving. Te Fiti, Motunui, those ten short precious years he’s spent getting to know this one incredible human. Tumu and the sea urchins and Saveasi’uleo and _Te Fiti and Tilafaiga and his legend, his own story, wiped from existence -_

“Maui!” Moana shouts angrily, breaking off his chain of thought and lifting one hand off his back to smack him lightly in the face. “You listen to me right now!” 

Instinctively, he blinks down at her and shakes his head. Piece by piece, the assorted recollections begin to make sense once more. “Moana?” he asks, and his voice is rougher than it really should be. 

Finally, the itch on his chest subsides. Only then does he realize that there were actually two. 

“Oh, thank the Gods,” she breathes, placing one hand on her own heart. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he replies absently. “Uh - what happened? Wait, tattoos, where are -” Maui paws at his own chest, trying to see his entire body at once. His tattoos are still here, his hook - his hook is still here, it’s buried in the sand from where he dropped it once he realized he was about to attack Moana but it’s here and tangible and _real -_

“You - you died,” he says, eyes wide as he stares at the sand, trying to remember, “and then I talked to Tilafaiga, then I grabbed one of your boats to sail to Te Fiti and then I, uh...”

“You sailed all the way back to Te Fiti.” 

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head at himself. There’s a great weight, heavier even than an island - and he’d know, because he’s lifted them - that is suddenly off his chest. He can’t help but smile. “You’re alive.” 

Moana is frowning, though. “Because you tried to sacrifice your legacy for me,” Moana finishes. She doesn’t sound pleased. 

Uh oh. “I mean, in my defense, I thought it was just gonna be, um, my life.” He looks up to find her glaring at him with her hands on her hips. 

“What kind of defense is that, Maui?” she snaps, voice rising. Knowing he’s okay has, apparently, sparked her ire. “ _Oh, it’s okay, I only thought I was going to_ die _on some chicken-headed stunt to sacrifice myself for you, it’s all fine now?”_

“Well it is - you were dying, Moana! Now you’re not!” he snaps, caught off-guard at her anger. It’s not like he’d actually been killed! 

“So the clear solution was to make me _forget you?_ That’s not a choice, you dying or me forgetting you entirely!” 

“What, you would’ve preferred me to just... to just let you die? That’s not gonna happen!” 

“You don’t get to decide that!” she snarls. Actually snarls, sounding uncannily like a creature from Lalotai. He taught Moana her warrior face, but he’s starting to wonder if she got a second opinion somewhere because that’s _frightening_. “You don’t get to choose to try to sacrifice yourself in some fishbrained stunt for my life, Maui!” She throws her hands in the air, wrists cutting cleanly through the ocean breeze, brows narrowed over her eyes. “I’m mortal, I’m going to die anyway - but you! You’re a demigod!”

“That doesn’t matter, Moana!” 

“What do you _mean_ , that doesn’t matter? You had so much potential and you _wasted_ it on me -”

“I wasted nothing!” he roars, and she jumps back, startled. 

Her flinch hits Maui like a punch to the gut. He takes a deep breath, and scrubs at his face. This is getting them nowhere. 

In slow, deliberate motions, he plops himself on the ground, facing seaward. She makes no move to join him, so he pats the ground next to him, consciously lets go of some of the hurt tension flooding through his arms. Apparently, she thinks his sacrifice would have been a _waste_. 

She just doesn’t get it. 

A decade later, the view from this island looks the same. It’s the same beach, the same waves rolling ashore, the same tally marks lining the rock he can see in his peripheries. Distantly, he wonders if his statue is still in that cave. Down to the grains of sand ringing the ocean, to the score-marks from the wind and storms against the rocks, nothing has changed.

The island is the same, yet Maui is so, so different. 

“I had brothers, once,” he starts, staring out at the horizon. Heh. _Horizon_. He taught her that word, ten years ago. The first time he’d looked at her as anything other than a waterlogged, fishbrained princess. “When I was still fully mortal, not demigod. Three of them. I can kind of remember their faces. One had a hooked nose, and the other a flat face, and the other had his teeth even from a really young age. I never knew their names.”

Moana still does not move. “We’re talking about _you_ , Maui.” 

“Let me finish, Moana. Please.” 

There is a long, long pause. Finally, Moana sits reluctantly against the sand, mirroring his position staring out at the sea. 

“My mother, on the other hand... I don’t remember her at all.” He huffs out a rueful laugh. “Except her silhouette as she threw me overboard.” 

Finally Moana looks at him, eyes pained. Maui shakes his head minutely, silently asking her not to comment. “I didn’t know my brothers, not really. I guess they loved me. I don’t know. I know my mother didn’t.

“For about three thousand years, give or take, that was my experience with family.” He shrugs. “Obviously, it wasn’t a great one. I thought that was what family was - you love them when they’re convenient, and when they’re not...well, _sploosh_ ,” he imitates, moving his hands to mime a splash of the waves. Moana flinches bodily from the motion, and he glances sideways at her to find her huge eyes riveted on his. There’s still anger in her body, but at least she’s listening. 

“For a long while, I made myself convenient for humanity. And it worked really well - I gave them fire, coconuts, the breezes. I taught them to read the wind and the tides, everything they could ever want. And they loved me. 

“Then, well, I failed. So back into the ocean I went. Got stuck on this island, and I had a whole lot of time to think. Decided that love, well, just wasn’t worth it. That’s what it got me, right? Thrown overboard and left to die.

“For thousands of years, I told myself that I didn’t need a family. I didn’t need love. All I needed was adoration.” He chuckles hollowly. “It was a great lie, too. I almost believed it, I really did. Because no one...well, no one thought of me like that. I had no family, not really. Didn’t want one. Family - loving - gets you hurt, and abandoned.”

This place even smells the same, like the stench of salt and dead seaweed. Sometimes he wonders if the rot of Saveasi’uleo hit his island first, if his was the first place on which all life shrivelled. Sure weren’t many trees. The leaves that had pillowed his head, he notices abruptly, are the same as those Moana carries. 

“That’s not what you did, though,” he continues quietly. “From the very beginning, you... you refused to let me die. Saved me from good ol’ Glittershell, took the heart to Te Fiti when I wouldn’t. Even when I was being, y’know, stubborn or pigheaded or arrogant or just an all-around jerk, you never left. Not like I did.” 

“Stop that,” she whispers, shifting closer to him. 

“Fine,” he concedes. It’s an old argument, and not one he wants to reopen now. “Anyway, point is... you wanted to know why I came after you. Why a demigod would sacrifice himself for a mortal.” He huffs a small laugh, and turns to look at her, smiling genuinely. 

How far he has come, from the arrogant demigod who spent years creating a song to commemorate his own victories. From the demigod too absorbed in his own heroics to think after the mortal ferrying him across the sea. From the demigod who tried to kill her during their first meeting, then abandoned her to certain death soon after. 

How far Moana has come, too. From unsure teenager to confident, capable Chief. How far she has come, from the girl setting out for a fate too big for her young hands alone. 

And how much farther they will go. How far they will go, together. 

“I found family in you, Moana.” 

Her face sort of crumples. He thinks it’s a good crumple, though, the way something needs to break before it can reform, like a snake shedding its skin to come out new. 

“I went to Te Fiti and Tilafaiga because, to me, you are family. And you showed me that family isn’t something you abandon. It’s something you protect.” His grin grows softer. “At all costs.” 

Moana, kind-hearted Moana, is well and truly crying. “That’s stupid,” she tells him wetly, but the bite in her words is pretty lost, because she leans sideways and wraps her arms around his chest. 

Gently, carefully, Maui settles his arms around her frame, drawing her closer to his chest, fingers curling in her hair. He takes a deep breath, and revels in the feeling of being able to hold her again. “Love you, Moana,” he says quietly. He thought, he feared, that he’d lost this. 

For a long, long moment, neither of them move. Maui breathes deeply, over and over again, relishing the feeling that they are _alive_ , and they are _together_. 

Then her fist pounds gently against his shoulder. It’s a weak hit, and they both know it. Curly’s capable of rattling the leaves off his palm tree when she really wants to, and this was hardly a whisper of a wind through the coconuts. She sits up, scrubbing at her eyes, and the anger in her face is gone. 

“Thank you,” she says genuinely, tucking her hair behind her ears from where it’s fallen over her face. She sniffles. “I love you too, Maui.” 

For a long moment, neither of them moves. Then, with steady fingers, she reaches up and unclasps his necklace from around her neck and hands it to him. 

The twine has settled comfortably against his neck once more when an idea strikes him. He looks downward, then prises one of the teeth off the rope. For a few seconds he holds in his hands, weighing it. It’s one of the smaller ones, a thin molar of blacktip reef shark. Then he offers it to her.

Without the blacktip tooth, his tattoo of Moana, entirely restored, lies unobscured on his chest. 

The confusion melts from Moana’s face, replaced by another wavering grin, and she scrubs at one eye with the heel of one hand. With steady fingers, she clicks open her locket, and nestles the tooth in its grasp. As she studies the locket, holding it close to her chest, a small smile graces her face. 

“Shells-for-brains,” she whispers. 

Maui snorts. “Fishfeet.” 

Moana huffs a small laugh, too worn and warm for the indignation that nickname typically conjures. Then, content, she lists to one side, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

Gradually, her breathing evens. As it always does when she sleeps, whether it’s those cold stormy nights in her _fale_ or an unfortunately timed nap in the midst of the _fale tele_ , her breathing times perfectly with the rushing of the waves upon the shore. For hundreds of heartbeats, Maui just sits, matches his breathing with hers. 

This island is not his home. Though he has lived here for a thousand years, and cannot have spent more than two on the shores of Motunui, he would like to think... maybe he could find home. Maybe he could make Motunui his home. 

Maui almost thinks that Moana’s well and truly asleep when she shatters the silence with a question murmured against his shoulder. “How are you feeling, Maui?”

“Itchy.” He rubs absently at his nose. 

That wrests another rueful snort from her. “Not about the sand. About, y’know... being mortal.” 

Maui pulls a face at the question, letting the air flutter past his lips as he exhales. “I don’t know.” 

He really doesn’t. It’s a huge concept. He’s going to die. He’s going to die at some point, and that is now inevitable - he is no longer immortal. If he loses again like he did to Te Ka, that will mean the end of him. 

Mortality should really feel more of a death sentence. But Moana’s head is resting against his shoulder and for some reason, it doesn’t. 

There’s a lot more he could say, but somehow, now that he’s mortal, he has more time than ever to say it. So he lets the words sit. In time, they will talk. And it is a miracle, Maui thinks wryly, that they have this time. 

Moana starts snoring on his shoulder. He takes a look at her, carefully, without dislodging her. Really looks. There are bags under her eyes and her shoulders are slumped and Maui thinks, no, it was not a miracle. 

It was Moana. 

 

“I’m not sure how much use this’ll be anymore,” Maui says four hours later, eyeing his hook melancholically. Several minutes ago, Moana had finally slumped off his shoulder for a rude awakening via faceful of sand. 

Moana perks right up from where she’d been slicing an apple, still idly picking sand out of her hair. “I’ve been wondering about that,” she says excitedly, sticking the blade clean through the skin and dusting her hands on her skirt. “I don’t know for sure, of course, but I think you can still use it!”

“What, the hook?” 

“Yeah! I mean, your tattoos are still animate, which means there’s some magic left around you. And we know that the hook works on mortals because you used it on me when we were fighting that giant turtle, remember? When we were both, y’know, catapulted out into the ocean and you turned us into dolphins?”

It takes Maui a couple of seconds to expand his blanket definition of _mortal_ to include himself. “All righty,” he says to both of them, holding the hook awkwardly in two hands. “Um... giant hawk?”

The hook flashes, and Maui topples to one side as his legs fuse into a shark’s tail. 

Moana laughs so hard she chokes. 

 

“How did I end up here, anyway?” Maui asks, running his hands through the sand with a strange sense of revulsed nostalgia and apprehension.

“Oh, I wanted to drop off here before heading to Motunui,” Moana grunts, hefting the sail into the air, then winding the halyard around her wrist in one deft motion. The wind curls into her sail instantly, lurching both of them seaward. “Motunui’s only about a day’s sail from here, and before we got back I wanted to make sure you were still, uh, okay.” 

“Ah.” Maui nods. Wait, if he slept all the way from Te Fiti to his old island - “I was out for a _month?_ ” 

That was definitely not a screech, but Moana laughs at him despite the one-hundred percent obvious dignity of his inquiry. “Actually, a month and a bit!” she replies cheerily, re-twisting her hair in her bun. “You’ve been snoring on that island for, oh, five days now.” 

“I don’t snore!” he splutters. 

“Uh-huh, sure.” 

Maui grumbles under his breath. In the distance, his accursed island grows smaller and smaller as Moana sets sails for Motunui. 

Maui clambers up the mast and hangs off, letting his gaze roam around the horizon. Below him, Moana taps the oar, drawing the sail closer to his feet. The sea really does seem endless from up here - it gleams, beautiful and cerulean, in all directions. 

He is glad his mother threw him overboard, all those years ago. He would not trade this family he has found for anything. Not Sina and Tui, and Arihi, La’ei and Fetuilelagi and Tane and Rangi, all the children and adults of Motunui, the sailors and the warriors and the harvesters - not for anything. 

And for Moana? Well. He knows, now, just how far he will go for Moana. 

Maui lets himself drop lithely to the deck of the boat, then sits next to Moana. She looks at him, then to the mast, and raises an eyebrow. 

He chuckles in a wordless response, folding his hands behind his head. Her movements are smooth and easy as she corrects for a current tugging them sideways, then tucks the oar underneath her arm to look at him. “So, what are you going to do now?” she breaks the silence. 

Maui shrugs, flops one hand over his forehead to shade himself from the sun. “Don’t know. Though I’ve, uh, heard being a Chief is pretty difficult.” 

“Sometimes,” she replies cheerily, shifting the oar slightly without so much as glancing toward the horizon. “The work can definitely be a lot. And there’s all these names to keep track of, ceremonies to perform, little kids to entertain. Oh, and people to not offend. Certainly a lot of work for one person.”

“Huh, well -”

“And then of course there’s these wild monsters that seem to love coming to Motunui, and not even speaking of beasts there are a couple of Chiefs that always get under my skin, and I could definitely use someone to, y’know, stand behind me and look all intimidating. Bonus points for extra muscles and intimidating tattoos.” She arches an eyebrow in his direction, prodding at the oar as the wind shifts. “Why, you know someone?” 

“Yeah, I might. He’s a pretty cool guy. Got a good track record too, of, y’know. Of helping people out.”

“It’s gonna be work,” she warns. 

“Psh, this guy’s pulled up islands. He’s used to work,” he scoffs. 

Moana pretends to consider it, going so far as to tap her fingers against her chin. “Well, it is technically against tradition....” 

As Maui gestures toward the wide-open sea around them, he looses an audible snort, mimicking her raised eyebrow with one of his own. Since when has Moana followed someone else’s rules? 

“Oh, hush,” she snickers, then her grin softens. “Well, we’ll have to make a new _fale_ , and you’re gonna have to learn everyone’s names - _yes_ , everyone, even the adults - and we’ve got a couple of dances I’m sure you’re not up to speed with. Some ceremonies, too. _And_ you’re gonna have to get a lot better at that whole diplomacy thing.” 

“I’ll give it my best shot.” He shoots for a feigned smile and oversteps right into genuine territory. It’s hard, okay, when Moana looks that happy. Her joy is just infectious. 

She hums in agreement, pushes the oar back. Over their heads, their sails fill with wind. 

As their boat speeds along, content to be once more among the blue of the waves, an island forms over the horizon. 

Motunui, Maui thinks. His island. And between this island and this mortal, this mortal who has carved herself a place in his heart, he thinks _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue, and then this story is finished! 
> 
> Two quick notes: the bit about Maui teaching Moana the word for “horizon” is a reference to another of my works, entitled _Where the Sky Meets the Sea_. Additionally, the reference to Maui’s three brothers is pulled from common Polynesian stories, in which Maui was actually one of four sons. 
> 
> See you soon.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary:  
>  _Fale_ \- word for a Samoan house or structure. 
> 
> Saveasi’uleo - Samoan god of the Underworld. 
> 
> Lalotai - the realm of monsters as seen in the film.


	8. Chapter 8

Time’s kinda fuzzy, up here in the clouds. Not fuzzy like demigod-fuzzy, decades-gone-in-a-blink fuzzy. More like one blink sees a day gone, and the next a week. It takes a bit of adjusting to. 

Tagaloa’s been great about the whole adjustment thing, though. As scary as he seems - understandably, since he’s at least a hundred times Maui’s size - he’s a great guy. Would recommend. He even commended Maui on his choice of mortals, a sentiment that Maui both appreciates and with which he wholeheartedly agrees. 

To say that Tagaloa’s realm is huge would be an understatement. Maui’s not even sure mortals have a word that could do it justice. Massive, behemoth, gargantuan - none of the come close. The sky is a mirror to the sea below him, but _bigger_. The waves are the eddies of the wind itself, and sailing is weightless, the crafts of Moana’s ancestors propelled up and over the shifting tides of the clouds, soaring through the endless sky. 

Turns out, the world below them is round. Huh. So there wasn’t really an end to a horizon, just a point where you came back to where you’d been. That was... a bit odd, getting used to. Imagining that their sea was actually round. It’d never looked that way, during his time way down there. It’d just looked flat. 

But even if there was an end to their old ocean, there’s no end here. The sea of the sky really does continue, it really goes on forever. The blue that constitutes their water and their waves stretches infinitely, and the clouds that form their islands are never the same, and they’re never in the same place twice - some are denser, some lighter and puffier, some move to intercept him as he pushes off. Some leak. Some have entire hosts of people, whole groups of Moana’s ancestors, sailing and exploring and laughing, just as they did thousands of years ago. Up here, in the clouds of Tagaloa’s realm, there’s always more. 

Sure, Maui’s taken out one of their boats, borrowed from Moana’s great-great-great-plus-forty-something-greats grandmother. Just to poke around, make sure it’s not hard to switch from sailing down there to sailing up here, to kinda see what lies ahead for them. Turns out you still just need an oar and a sail and a good feel of the waves, and setting out again feels right. But he’s never been gone more than three hours. Nothing too commendable - just to work out logistics. Wayfinders never sail alone, and Maui doesn’t want to take off solo. 

Besides, there’s someone he’s waiting for. 

Thankfully, the sky is full of people to talk to. Word gets around pretty quick that the great Maui, Hero to All, has passed into Tagaloa’s realm - and as it turns out, he’s as much a hero mortal as he was immortal. Especially to the peoples who once lived on Motunui. Among them, he’s a favorite. More than once he’s had a couple of the not-too-long-dead Chiefs thank him for protecting their island, their people, long after they passed. 

Then he finds the really old Chiefs of Motunui, the ancient voyagers who set out in their ships to eagerly uncover his islands, faces lighting with glee and anticipation. Ta’ita’i, one of the first to set sail, wraps Maui in a hug so huge that he can almost feel his ribs splintering. Afterward, Maui spends a couple months catching up with Fa’atonuga the Ruthless, one of his favorites before his millennium in his vacation home. All of them are touched, proud beyond words that far below them, the Voyager Chief teaches her people their names once more. 

Then, not two months after he’d set foot in Tagaloa’s realm, he finds a particular gray-haired woman. Well, more like she finds him. _Well,_ more like she storms right up to him, grabs his ear, pulls him down with a shockingly firm grip for someone with quite that much white streaking their temples, and shrieks directly into his eardrums. 

Then, just when he’s sure that he’s going to have to wave his hearing goodbye, she rocks backward and roars with laughter. He’s really not sure _what_ is happening, just sits there like a particularly useless boulder, until he catches a glimpse of her back.

Sure enough, with wings spread majestically across her shoulders, is the tattoo of a manta ray. 

He pays her back by catching her off guard, whispering a word of thanks. For helping Moana when he did not. And in response, she smacks him. 

He thinks, ruefully, rubbing his shoulder, that Moana would have done the same. The Voyager Chief always hated it when he brought up that particular misstep. 

With Moana’s family, he’s found a home again. Chief Tui and Sina find him soon after, towed behind Moana’s grandmother, and even several months later it takes Maui off-guard to find that these humans, these remarkable humans, treat him as they would family. 

With them, he passes many years. Their store of tales from Moana’s youth is nearly endless; and in return, Maui shares some of their exploits on the sea. How Moana kept sailing, kept voyaging, up until Maui himself passed. 

He’s not sure, but he doesn’t think Moana’s set her sails seaward since he died. 

There is white in her hair, now, thinner and smoother than the clouds in the sky. In the place of a walking-stick, she uses an oar. When she tilts it toward the sky, making her way - slow but steady, unfaltering as always - through her village, the light catches on a heart engraved in the wood. 

Moana wears little jewelry, but she has never removed her necklace. Still the blue glints from around her neck; and on the inside, always over her heart, a shark-tooth lies nestled in its gentle grasp. 

Chief La’ei wears the _tuiga_ of her mother’s sister with pride. Her son is a bard, a storyteller, devastating with word and melody alike. Even before she passes, Moana is honored with a glimpse of the legends with which her people will honor her. Of her feats the bard-child writes hundreds of songs, from the alliances she has struck to the beasts she has slayed to the life she returned to her people.

And in those stories, always by her side, Maui hears his own name. It seems inextricably twined with the titles of Moana, the famed Chief of Motunui, Voyager of the Seas, Name-giver of Islands. Always his come after, the same but different - he is the Master of the Wind and Sea, now. 

The Chief’s son adds one to his repertoire, a personal touch and tribute, to the Guardian of Motunui. 

For several years, he is content to watch. Sometimes, Moana’s grandmother joins him, and his days are filled with laughter, of teasing the oblivious retired Chief below their feet. Sometimes Tui and Sina, always together, sit by his side, feet swinging over the ocean of which they had finally lost their fear. Sometimes all three of them, a once-demigod and three humans, joined in their love of one particular mortal. 

One day, when Maui watches alone, Moana dies. 

 

 

She is mere years older than the first time he met her. Her oar rests comfortably at her side, her back straight and unbowed, her eyes fierce and furrowed. In death, as in life, she is unafraid. Tagaloa is the first to meet her, and she is honored: even the God of Creation knows her name. 

When Tagaloa releases her into the highest ring of his realm, it is Maui that pulls her close. 

 

 

At the time of the Voyager, the stories of the Motunui were passed along in covert tones. For forty generations they were hushed, told in whispers as they were banned from the reef. Slowly, most of the village forgot their ancestors; most ignored the call of the sea, which had once leapt joyfully in their hearts. 

But in her reign, the Voyager Chief refused. She extolled the legends of their ancestors, commemorating them in song, so that their names would no longer be forgotten. So the people of Motunui learned as their Voyager had done before them; once more they learned, name-by-name, the ancestors that had sung and fought and sailed, uncovering their own island and dozens more. 

Then her sister’s daughter after her, and her son after, added their own legends to the mix. Of the Voyager they make countless stories, immortalizing her deeds and those of the Guardian Maui who travelled with her, of their island’s Guardian who began their Voyager on her path toward wayfinding. Of their Voyager and their Guardian the people of Motunui sing hundreds of songs, lilting melodies, lifting their voices to the sky. 

On the day that the Voyager dies, sailing to the furthest unknown among the clouds, two falling stars arch over the skies of Motunui. And the year next, and the next, and the next - the same two stars, on that night, each year. 

A giant, some say, shaking their heads. An idle behemoth, disgusted with himself, shedding his old rocks skyward like crumpled snakeskin. Or a bored god, skipping stones across the expanse of the sky, disinterested and apathetic after centuries of ruling. 

But the Chief of Motunui turns her eyes toward the sky and tells her son _look, the Voyager Chief and our Guardian, defenders of our people._ She tells her people _look here and see, even as we die we are remembered._

Inspired, her son sets his throat to music and sings. Above his head, those two stars soar across the sky, skipping between star and sun and light, weaving their way past the gods and legends emblazoned inside the constellations in which they have earned their home. Joyfully they sail, bobbing and weaving around the gods, ducking past Tilafaiga and bobbing below Tagaloa, threading through the stars of Taema and soaring cheerily over the island of Te Fiti, where it is said that, once a year, the great goddess herself lifts her head to acknowledge those who pass over her island.

Together, the people of Motunui whisper to themselves, turning awed faces skyward and rejoicing as the music swells around them, _aue aue, te fenua te malie._ Together, says the bard-child and the hundreds of voices with him, recounting their legends and their myths of their defenders, their beloved Chief and Guardian, the Voyagers of the Stars, _we tell the stories of our elders in a never-ending chain -_

Together, the two stars fly endlessly on the waveless ocean. 

Together, Moana and Maui sail the eternal seas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge shoutout to everyone who left comments on this fic. Your feedback and occasional angry shouting was hugely motivational for me, and made writing this whole thing really worth it. I’ve loved being able to write for this fandom, because you are all so kind and genuine and an honest joy to interact with. 
> 
> This work is over, but I’m expanding it into a series, _The Voyagers of the Stars_. I’m not sure how long it will be, but there will be at least one more work. 
> 
> La’ei’s kid’s name is Lin. Just for grins. 
> 
> Thank you again for sharing with me this incredible journey. Tulou, Tagaloa.

**Author's Note:**

> All right, and so we begin!
> 
> A couple of notes, for reference. First, in this ‘verse, Moana has ruled Motunui for ten years now. She has a sister, Arihi, who is several years younger than Moana herself. Arihi has a kid, La’ei, who’s about seven at this time. As Moana herself has no children, nor a husband. Moana and Arihi are well-occupied training La’ei to rule Motunui. Additionally, by this time, Moana in her voyages has found several other peoples. With some, she gets along well, like Chief Fuefue of Tumu; and with some, like Chief Laki of Hehena, she does not. 
> 
> Overall, this story is gonna be pretty mythology-heavy! I love mythology, and honestly researching little tidbits and headcanons to incorporate into a couple of the characters was some of the most fun I’ve had writing in a little while. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Want to chat? Drop by at inkedinserendipity.tumblr.com!
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Laki - Samoan name meaning lucky. In this ‘verse, the Chief of Hehena. He’s pretty arrogant and not well-liked on Motunui. One of those leaders that favors appearance over actual performance. 
> 
> Tumu - in this ‘verse, the island ruled by Chief Fuefue. A close ally and trading partner to Motunui. 
> 
> Fuefue - the Samoan word for a beach morning-glory, a light pink flower common on beaches. In this ‘verse, the young Chief of Tumu. Over time, Moana and Fuefue have grown to be friends as well as leaders of allied villages. 
> 
> Lalotai - the realm of monsters as seen in the film. 
> 
> _Haka_ \- a Maori battle cry used to intimidate enemies. Can also be used during special occasions - to greet a guest, to mark a funeral, etc. In the movie, Maui performed a _haka_ at least twice: once when opening the entrance to Lalotai, and the second to save Moana from Te Ka after his hook broke. 
> 
> Arihi - Pacific Island name meaning noble. In this ‘verse, the younger sister of Moana, who helps Moana rule Motunui by taking care of the details that Moana is sometimes too hotheaded and determined to consider carefully before deciding. 
> 
> Fa’atonuga - in this ‘verse, one of Moana’s ancestors. Regarded as a ruthless ruler in wartime. Upholder of justice. A favorite of Tilafaiga, had a soft-spot for Maui. They fought alongside each other for some time before she passed.
> 
> Nofo - in this ‘verse, the Chief during the theft of the Heart. It was he who, driven by his duty to his people, split up the warring factions that were created under the reign of Fa’atonuga’s parents and sent them to safety on separate islands.


End file.
